


Longues et Périlleuses Retrouvailles

by Gairid, Leshan



Series: Torn, Frayed and Mended [2]
Category: Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-03-02 06:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 69,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2803211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gairid/pseuds/Gairid, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leshan/pseuds/Leshan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story resumes after "To Every Season" (http://archiveofourown.org/works/1329490/chapters/2768188 ) -- Yes, yes, we know that work is very long, but we do encourage you to read it for continuity. This tale picks up the story with Louis and Lestat living apart and slowly finding their way back to one another. Thanks to Stellie for her assistance and encouragement.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> The title, _Longues et Périlleuses Retrouvailles_ loosely translated , means 'the long road home' . A more precise, nuanced translation would be 'a risky, difficult reunion that will take some time to complete'.

Louis

 

A few months after I’d stepped out of Lestat’s life, he had still not stepped out of mine in any sense but the physical. This is not to say I had seen him or, indeed, had any contact with him; I had not. The closest I came to that was to be aware of his presence in the city. I could not read him or know his thoughts, but I heard his heartbeat, steady and singular to my ear among the throng of mortal pulsing. Occasionally I would catch a ghost of his scent, layered among the scents of exhaust and humanity, mules and cooking odors and I would know he’d been where I was standing. In moments like that I could almost feel that things had not changed, that I might enter through the courtyard of the house on Royal Street where we had lived together on and off through the centuries.  Listening for the click of the latch in the heavy cypress door in the worn brick wall even as I looked up to find his silhouette in an upstairs window watching me with his gleaming, hungry eyes.

 I walked the Quarter this blistering August evening, the banquette still hot beneath the soles of my shoes, passing sweaty, miserable looking tourists making their way up Toulouse Street toward the never-ending party on Bourbon. Men and women in cook’s whites stood about taking breaks from their sweltering kitchens, foreheads gleaming in the electric lights as they smoked or talked and looked forward to closing time. Many of them nodded to me as I passed. Some I knew by name, others only by sight, but all of them gave some acknowledgement; a nod, a smile, a friendly ‘Hey, bruh, what up?’

 I missed the area, the activity, the familiar faces of my neighborhood. I did not come here often because I told myself I didn’t want to run into Lestat, yet here I was again in spite of everything and it felt good. Bourbon Street was a half block away and I decided to duck into Molly’s to say hello to Alison, one of the bartenders, before I continued on. The bar was less crowded than at other times during the year, so I sat at the end of the bar. Alison spotted me and bustled over, smiling widely.

 “Where’ve you been, stranger?” she asked. She’d already gotten a frosted mug from the freezer and was drawing a Beck’s for me. She wore her usual uniform of black jeans and a black tank top; her arms bulged like a prizefighter’s as she moved a keg sitting on a dolly to its place beneath the bar, timing it so my mug was full just as she wrestled it into place. She’d added to the tattoo on her left biceps; a hummingbird now hovered before the brilliant red hibiscus flower that bloomed there.

 “Leave of absence,” I said, looking into her dark eyes. She nodded as if that made perfect sense to her. “Well, it’s good to see you here, Gorgeous. I missed you.” She winked and moved back along the bar to take an order from some newcomers.

 I took my beer and retreated to a small table in the corner to watch and for awhile that was enough, sorting through the scents in the bar, listening idly to the conversations around me and listening to the juke pouring forth a steady stream of mostly rock music interlaced with country and the occasional sentimental Irish ballad. I had also begun to wonder what had come over me tonight to bring me here. In spite of what rumor may say, I am not particularly melancholy and I hadn’t been spending every night weeping for Lestat; had I been prone to that, I would likely have wept myself to a dry and withered husk by this time.

 Before the wedding… before he’d left and things had once again fallen apart between us, we would sometimes play a game, a hide-and-seek sort of thing. I would leave the house upon waking and pick a place, generally a bar where the ordering of food was not an issue, and I would wait and see how long it took for Lestat to find me.

He was good at it, usually able to locate where I was in less than a half an hour. The prize for doing so was predictable enough, but the anticipation was always a delicious thing to me, waiting to see him come through the door with that look of complacent triumph and the lazy, hip-shot stride toward where I sat waiting for him.

 Was that what I was doing now? Had I been glancing at the window, anticipating the sight of his pale hair, curled with humidity, the way his eyes would find mine? Surely not. You left _him_ , you fool.  The song playing on the jukebox changed to something familiar, a song I remembered hearing fairly often a few years before Lestat had coming roaring back to life with his usual over-the-top plans in the late  20th century. All my interest in the surroundings faded and absurdly, after my assertions to the contrary, I felt the sting of tears. 

‘ _If you could read my mind, love_

_What a tale my thoughts would tell_

_Just like an old time movie_

_‘Bout a ghost in a wishing well.’_

How close to home it was, an exquisite, painful dart to my chest, tight now with sudden, unlooked-for emotion. I rose and switched my full mug with an empty one from a nearby table and placed it on the bar. When Alison approached, I pushed it toward her along with a generous tip and a pleasant good night. Outside, the heat enveloped me and I stood breathing in deep, full draughts of humid air, sorting the scents until I found him. He was near, or had been very recently; the scent of him was apprehended as much on my tongue as it was in my nostrils.

_‘…and you won’t read that book again_

_Because the ending’s just too hard to take.’_

I moved rapidly back to Canal Street, and once on the streetcar, I turned to the open window to let the warm air flow past my face, washing his scent from my mouth and nose and feeling at once relieved and desperate and thinking that I would stay away from the Quarter, stay away from Lestat. Drown myself in sweet mortal blood. Take Brian and indulge in his willing warmth in the house by the park; to Paris or Tahiti or San Fran-bloody-fucking-cisco because that other ending’s just too hard to take.


	2. Autumnal

Louis

 

** October **

People in New Orleans love a holiday and Halloween appeals to their sense of fun, their love of costuming and celebration. Houses are decorated, some of them quite elaborately. There is a house on St. Charles Ave that continues to outdo itself with a display of skeletons with clever signage. It’s become a Halloween destination, people bringing their children to see it. Many of the other houses on the Avenue have followed suit.

Brian always sees to the decorating and he didn’t stint on our house by the park. “So, what do you think?”  We were standing in the front looking up. The front porch and the porch above were covered in artfully spread spider webbing. An enormous black fuzzy spider appeared to be crawling down from the second floor. Two smaller ones guarded the stairway. There were pumpkins on the steps and a sinister ghoul floating below the iron chandelier that hung over the front entrance.

“Madame Arachnid is the belle of the street.” I told him. “When will you carve the pumpkins?”

“Closer to Halloween. It’s too warm: they’d have rotted by the big day.”  He continued looking up at the spider. “I did the balcony on Royal too. You should go and have a look,” Brian said, looking sidewise at me.

“You’re not very subtle, you know.”

He shrugged. “Whatever works, right? I’m taking Murphy to get a costume. Krewe of Barkus rolls out tomorrow.”

A little over an hour later, I was standing in the shadowy foyer of the townhouse. There were no lights on,  and the only sounds were the ticking of the clocks, the low, atonal hum of electricity powering slumbering computers and unused appliances and the slow steady thumping of an immortal heartbeat. Asleep? Possibly. He indulges in natural sleep far more often than I do, though some tremor in the still air of the house told me that he was as aware of my presence as I was of his.

The third step creaks when your put any weight on the left side; I did so deliberately, mounting the steps slowly and breathing shallowly, mouth open to draw in his scent. The was faint light in the upper hallway, afforded by the streetlights filtering through the parted drapes in the parlor to the right of the staircase. I didn’t need light—this place is as familiar to me as the back of my hand.

Slight pause with my hand on the doorknob to the bedroom, limbs trembling in anticipation; I missed him so much, missed his touch, the feel of his breath on my skin.

He lay still on the bed, his body covered with only the top sheet and as I moved nearer to the bed he stirred and spoke my name in a low, wondering voice. Hearing my name in his mouth sent a shudder through me and I worked my clothing off, letting them fall to the floor. Kneeling on the bed he turned to me, eyelids fluttering. I lifted the sheet and crawled in beside him.

“No words, Lestat. I don’t want to speak of all that has happened. I don’t want to make love. I only want to hold you, feel you close. _Tu me manques,  mon coeur.”_  His response was to shift and draw me into his embrace so that my head rested beneath the shelf of his jaw.

Lying like that, skin to skin, adjusting our bodies for closer contact, to touch a shoulder, a hip;  to brush hair from eyes. We spoke, yes, murmured endearments, fragments of inconsequential import. He hummed a sweet French love song, forgotten by everyone but us by now.

Toward dawn, I rose and dressed while he watched me from the bed. When I was done, I leaned down and kissed him softly on the mouth. He made as though to speak when I straightened but I put a finger to his lips.

“This is enough for now, _cheri_.” I told him, smoothing his hair. “Will you look for me again?”

He nodded, eyes wide. I nodded back. “Then I will come back some night.”

 

** November **

 

The house was dark when I pulled into the drive and I thought that odd since I’d told Brian I would be home sometime tonight. He generally leaves the outside lights on, even if he’s decided to go to sleep. Not that it mattered. I can see perfectly well without them.

 It was when I shut the car off and sat for a moment listening that I realized Lestat was nearby, likely on the front porch looking out across the park. His heartbeat was loud in my ears now that I’d identified the sound. I had not seen him since the night I allowed myself to visit, desperate for his touch.

He was seated in one of the white wicker chairs watching me as I rounded the side of the porch. “I hope you don’t mind that I waited here for you.”

 “Unexpected, but no, I don’t mind.” I climbed the steps and settled into the chair beside his, watching the blue flicker of a votive in a little jar on the table beside his elbow.

 I raised my eyes to his and he smiled a little.  “I had a reason. Brian stopped by the townhouse this evening. To read me the riot act, or maybe to just say hello—the conversation ran the gamut;  I haven’t seen him that intoxicated in some time. I brought him back here and put him to bed.”

 “Very kind of you.” I said carefully.

 “An unasked for opportunity, as well. How could I pass up a chance to see you?” He bent forward just slightly.

 I leaned back, sighing a little but giving no answer. What would I say? I was so very conflicted and having him right beside me, knee to knee as though nothing at all had changed was not easing those conflicted feelings at all. On one hand it was comforting to have him near, on the other his audacity, which I have always been charmed by, was pressing unfair advantage and I didn’t want to be pushed.

 “What did Brian have to say?” I asked, deflecting his first parry. His forward posture deflated somewhat and he leaned back, crossing his legs and lacing his fingers over his flat belly.

 “He was truculent at first. He spoke mainly about you and let me know in no uncertain terms that I was a scoundrel and a reprobate for tying you up in knots the way I did.”

Here was a change. He had not challenged my non-answer.  “Those don’t sound like Brian’s word choices at all.” I said with some amusement. His grin gave him away.

 “It may have been closer to ‘selfish asshole dickhead’, now that you mention it. But I know he meant scoundrel and reprobate.” he said. “When I asked him where you were, he said you’d been in Mexico for a few days but that you were coming home sometime tonight. What were you doing in Mexico?”

 Though it may have seemed so, this was not a prying question, but rather, a curious one. He had little notion of what I did with myself when he wasn’t around to direct things. I mean this in the kindest possible way. “Vacation.” I said cryptically. “Go on, please.”

He raised an eyebrow, but again, did not pursue it.  “He went on in that vein for a while. I suppose he needed to get it off his chest which is fair enough, so I tried not to speak unless he asked something specific. He’s very protective of you, Louis.” he hesitated a moment. “I’m probably not telling you anything you aren’t already well aware of, but it’s clear he’s fallen deeply in love with you.”

“Of course I know it.” I said with some asperity.  “And you of all people are not going to lecture me about it, Lestat. We’ve spoken of it between ourselves, Brian and I, and that’s where it stays, yes? Have I ever asked you about Tristan or any of the others?”

 He held up his hands placatingly. “Calm down. I wasn’t going to lecture you. I care about him too, you know and when he was speaking to me, it came through so strongly, well...”

I nodded, let out a breath, and spoke in a quieter tone. “All right, then.  I suppose I haven’t quite gotten used to this change in you.”

 “What change?”

 I shrugged. “Not so confrontational.  You are more measured than I’ve known you to be.”

 “And you have let yourself be angry for a change,” he pointed out. “Wonders never cease, do they?”

Against my will, I smiled. “Well, we haven’t started screeching at each other and waking the neighbors.  That’s got to be some kind of record.”

 “You wound me, Louis, you really do,” he said. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.” His countenance went from sorrowful to wicked. “We’ve had some good ones, though. Scared the bejesus out of half of New Orleans a time or two.”

 “Each other, too.”

 “Yes, well, being set on fire will do that.”

“Keep bringing that up and I shall roast you again.”

 We both sat back at the same time and an easy silence fell between us. The votive beside him guttered out and the sharp smell of wax and burned wick drifted around us on a blue raft of smoke. From across the park, we heard the liquid slap of a fish jumping in the lagoon, followed by the sleepy quacking of a mallard, disturbed from its slumber. “It’s nice here.” he said. “Quiet.”

 “It’s nearly 3 am. It’s even quiet in the Quarter at this time.”

 “I can’t remember the last time I heard a fish in the water or the quacking of ducks.  Louis?”

 “Mmm?”

 “Why not come back? There’s plenty of room. You can have your own space. We’ll open up 1125.”

“I am not ready for that. And neither are you. “I said. “You feel like you are because we’re having this moment and you feel all that there is between us. You want to bathe in it. I know, because I do too.  I think we both know none of that will address the underlying problems that still need solving.”

 He put his hand over mine and I grasped it firmly. “Can’t blame me for trying.” he said. “I miss you.”

 “You miss me because we are apart. Maybe we need to be apart to remember why we should stay together. When I’m right there with you, that’s when you become restless. That’s when I become the ghost. Maybe I don’t want you to fly away from me again so soon.” I said in a sudden and devastating wash of emotion.

 He tried to offer a meek smile but it wouldn't come and instead, his eyes seemed to hold the thought that the words I'd just uttered were the saddest he' ever heard. Perhaps for their truth, they were.

 "I should go." He said as he stood slowly. Suddenly he looked tired, and if you could see him on a regular basis, you'd understand that weariness stands out from his usual demeanor. "Next weekend is the Defend New Orleans benefit. I imagine I'll see you then."

 "Lestat, I didn't mean to..." I said and reached to touch his hand as he stood in front of me.

 "Don't apologize, beautiful." He bent down and kissed me on the cheek. I wanted to freeze the moment and as his lips lingered, I felt the temptation to give in to everything he wanted. He rose and gifted me with a more familiar, warm and easy smile. "You certainly have nothing to be sorry for in any of this and you know Louis, I have to say that assertiveness looks good on you."

 

 

 

 


	3. Remedy

 

**Lestat**

There was a dull and constant pain between my eyes, a pressured throbbing that would not dissipate. As vampires go, we’re not necessarily prone to headaches as defined in mortal terms, but a sort of psychic fatigue as Louis and I had come to label this particular affliction of mine over the years. So far as I knew, he never was troubled by such spells, but he never doubted that they produced an all-too-mortal like pain for me, akin to the much-dreaded migraine.

The sun had been down less than an hour when I felt the first signs of the pain to come. On previous occasions, I had found that several drinks may stave off a complete episode, and off I went to seek remedy in the blood. Fortunately for me, it was a busy weekend and the streets were full at this early hour. How easy it was to charm and seduce a man or woman of my choosing, and as always I was both amused and amazed that with everything written and rumored about the handsome blonde devil with fangs that stalked the French Quarter, they weren’t more cautious. As I took a long drink from the warm neck of a tall brunette in a slinky sequined dress, I thought how mortals – some of them anyway, are aware that they’re only a step away from death. They walk the fine line every hour of the day, and so perhaps when death comes calling, they totter willingly into his arms – especially when he looks like me.

I left the crowds and walked on, dissatisfied and feeling that I wanted little more than to retire to my bed for the rest of the evening. While the throb in my head had dimmed, it was still there, threatening to erupt at any minute. What I needed was for it to be soothed like the beast it was, and there was only one skillful enough for the task.  
So it was that I found myself on the veranda of Louis’ new home. I knocked on the door and again hated the fact that I was doing it – what was I, a playmate come to call and see if my friend could come out? Knocking on doors, I scoffed. I shook my head and heard the click of the door as it opened.

“Lestat, hello,” Brian said with a genuine smile. “Come on in.”

“I’m not feeling sociable, I’m afraid.” I closed my eyes slowly against the light coming from behind him as he stood in the vestibule and without thinking, began to massage between my eyes. “Is Louis in?”

“No, I’m afraid he isn’t. He left last night for…”

“You don’t have to tell me,” I said, hoping to spare him the awkwardness. He would feel loyal to Louis and not want to divulge such things if Louis hadn’t told me himself. “When will he be back?”

“I don’t really know. I expect him later tonight, but he didn’t say for sure. Do you want me to call him?  
”  
The dull pain seemed to laugh, and I felt myself becoming irritable. “I could probably call him Brian, don’t you think?  
”  
“I uh,” he muttered. “Yeah, sure, I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. My head, you know. Let me leave him a message. If he comes home this evening, that will be enough. If he doesn’t, it’s not like I’m going to die, right?” He stepped back and turned to retrieve a pen and paper from a drawer in the small table beside the door. I leaned against the entry table and tried not to think of anything at all. I took the clean bit of stationary and upon it wrote:

> _Louis, I need you. There's really no other way to say it, though surely I could come up with some fancy and quite plausible spin on the how and why of the matter. Is it ridiculous that again, after all that, I need you so much at times it feels indeed as if my dark soul is bleeding. I just want to lie in your arms and forget the world for a while. Can't it all wait for just a tender moment as you kiss me softly? Your touch, your lips have and will always at once offer shelter and fortification. Sometimes, it's all I want in the world for like nothing else, it can heal me._

I handed it to Brian and thanked him. He kindly offered to let me stay in one of the guest rooms but I declined. I could not think of staying in such a capacity, though I didn’t bother to argue the point. I simply turned and started toward home.

By the time I reached my bed, the pain had triumphed and was dancing a full jig above and between my brows. If I had been mortal, this would be the phase where I was in the bathroom, heaving into the bowl. At the thought of such a thing, I did indeed feel my stomach clench, but managed to distract myself by thinking of Louis again and whether he was back from the mystery trip. I wasn’t accustomed to the thought of him having a life without me, and wondered about his activities. A few weeks before when I’d visited him, he’d said he’d been in Mexico and offered no explanation or reason. I’d wanted to grill him for details, just because I was the curious sort and the thought of Louis alone in Mexico was something like an unreleased, secret Indiana Jones movie to my fertile imagination. Still, I’d taken it in stride and not pushed for answers. That had surprised him, and that I’d been able to do it truthfully surprised even me – but score one for Lestat, eh?

Our separations – this one and others over our time together did seem to be something of a game. I don’t mean that they weren’t serious, because they were – this one more so than any other in recent memory for the veracity of Louis’ words and deeds. Still, it was a volley: Score one for me, three for him and so on…

I was drifting in and out of sleep. The spot between my eyes burned; the pain troll had started a campfire. Why not? It was going to be a long night and he wanted to be comfortable. Sure, make yourself at home buddy. _Mi cabeza es su cabeza._ I pictured the troll, something of a demented red-haired caveman, tipping a sombrero. Had the mere thought not caused lightning bolts in my head, I would have laughed. Instead, I let him do his thing, closed my eyes and slipped into darkness.

Instinct awoke me: Someone in the house. I lay still to listen and smiled. He had come. Of course I’d thought he would but there was a measure of doubt for the strain between us. Brian had likely mentioned my irritability and told Louis that it was one of my headaches – he had witnessed enough of them – and maybe Louis would have thought it served me right to suffer through one without him. It would certainly have made me think about how much I needed him at such a time, but here he was… and he was… Louis, my love, who despite all the times I hurt him, could not let me suffer. He came to the side of the bed, bent and kissed my cheek.

"Louis," I whispered, the vibration of my words causing a colored, rippling lightshow of pain. “Oh, the lights…”

"They're all turned off," he said in the quietest voice possible. He settled on the bed with the same measure of gentleness and eased my head onto his lap. I would have loved to look up and see his legendary eyes gazing down at me compassionately, but the mere thought of looking at anything was excruciating. Slowly, he began to work his thumbs up from the inside corners of my eyes and over my forehead. He trailed them lightly over my temples and just when it seemed such a magical, soothing touch had disappeared altogether, he would begin again. While I longed for his voice or the hum of a long-forgotten melody, this all-too-mortal pain refused anything but silence, and so the room was dark and undisturbed: He knew as always, just what I needed. Gradually, the familiar technique prompted the previously imagined troll to put out the fire and stalk off with a scowl: Certainly Louis’ fingers were magic, and imaginary pain trolls wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Better?” He said, having felt rather than seen my smile.

“Yes, better, for now. But I think he might have just gone for more wood,” I answered with a short laugh. I explained what I thought were humorous visions and he sighed in a familiar fashion.

“You certainly never lack imagination, that’s all I can say.” He stroked my hair in the darkness. “Do you want me to turn on the small light in the hall?”

“Only if it means you’ll stay for a while,” I sat up slowly and turned toward him. Suddenly, I wanted to climb into his lap and shower him with kisses while I ripped his shirt off, but I remained still.

“I can stay if you like. I know your headaches tend to come back. Tonight was worse than usual, wasn’t it?” He got up and went out to turn on the light in the hall that banked off the bedroom door and gave us just enough light. In addition, he lit several candles in the room. What he didn’t understand perhaps is that if it would make him stay, I might have gotten out of bed and rammed my head into the wall several dozen times. The thought alone made the threat of pain flare, and I squinted as I watched Louis select a book from the far shelves. He returned to the bed and I nestled against him as he leaned against the headboard.

I lay there and listened to the story unfold in his gentle voice, and for this, it was like old times between us. He would pause and lay the book down at his side, a thumb holding the page. Never did he put a book pages down-spine up; to Louis that was an intolerable sin. In these pauses, we would remark on the story or something it brought to mind. It was so normal a thing for us that anyone looking would never have guessed we separated in a hail of fiery words.

Toward dawn, he sat up and I knew he would say it was time for him to leave. I didn’t want to beg him to stay and I didn’t want to fake my headache to sway his plans, but the greatest truth was that I wanted him in my bed – our bed – through the day. Having that normalcy between us… I didn’t want it to end.  
“Louis, please don’t go.” I said predictably.

“Did you think I could refuse you?” He asked as he looked down at me. “You’re very easy to read, especially when you need me to baby you.”

He gave me a magnificent smile and again I wanted to kiss him until my lips ached. “You baby me so well though.” I said. “Does that mean you’ll stay without my begging and whining?”

“Well you can beg and whine if you have a mind to. I wouldn’t want you feeling deprived.” He leaned over and kissed my forehead tenderly just where the fire had burned within.

“I’ll show you deprivation.” I countered. I rose up to meet him before pushing him onto his back. Then, I did as I’d wanted to before and straddled him. Ignoring his false protests, I bent to tease him with light kisses on his face and neck. I held his hands above his head and looked into his eyes. Those eyes… the eyes I’d known for centuries, the eyes that had captured me so long ago. “Louis,” I said quietly, suddenly overwhelmed by melancholy. I leaned down and kissed his lips slowly, to take in their curve and fullness as I claimed them. Instead of resisting, he freed his hands from mine and brought them around my back.

As he returned the kiss, he murmured my name, and I slowly came up to look at him again. There was no reason to say what I felt in that moment; He and I both knew the words and felt the emotion. Instead, in silence, I lay down against him and he stroked my hair once more. I might have wanted more, I might have asked or simply insisted that we make love – I wanted it so badly, but more than that, I wanted him. But no; even I could admit that it was too soon after all that had happened. I didn’t even want to discuss that, and so I lay against him and waited for the wave of lust to diminish. I think he knew that’s what I was doing; for one unable to read my thoughts, Louis is pretty good at the game. At last, I moved off of him and lay on my back to stare at the ceiling.

“I know it is hard for you, Lestat,” he said in a serious tone.

“… Hard? Well, yes Louis, you could say that.” I rolled my eyes in the dim light.

I sensed his smile, “That’s not what I meant, but yes, that too. Your libido and I are quite well-acquainted and believe me, I am not unfeeling.”

“In time, Louis, in time.” I sighed. “I’m not going to push you, because I know you know how much I want you in that way.”

“Yes, I know of course. And I know you know that I know, you know?” He laughed.

I loved his laugh and wanted to hear more. “But do you know what I know you don’t know?”

“No, do tell.” He gave me another bit of that precious laughter.

“I know that you don’t know that I know you know about the … the uh, that you don’t know about, wait, no – that you know about the uh, the … damn it, I can’t think of anything.” I cracked up and he turned toward me.

“I miss laughing with you, that’s what I know.” He caressed my cheek and there was that magnificent smile of his again, moving me suddenly from hilarity to soft wonder. In all our years together, through everything we’d seen and survived, that smile was untouchable – it always caught me off guard and always made me fall in love with him anew.

Next - Chapter Four, Viewpoints


	4. Viewpoints

**Lestat**

Dusk the following evening found us waking in one another’s arms, quite as though nothing had gone wrong between us. He asked if my headache was completely gone and I assured him that once again, his therapeutic touch had worked magic. For that, he was glad because as I’ve noted, regardless of what pain I inflict upon him, he does not enjoy my suffering. He did deign to sleep in the nude with me however, and had taken some pleasure in standing before me to strip slowly. Oh, he tried acting nonchalant, but I knew he understood all too well what it did to me. I behaved very well, though when he crawled under the sheets and moved against me, well, you can imagine. There is very little I can do or think of that can keep certain aspects of my body from displaying interest. But then, there have been many nights when Louis and I found more eroticism and comfort in merely kissing and touching without involving the more urgent physical aspects and it was bliss to experience that even to a mild degree. Our hands had wound together, kisses softly on a shoulder, along the neck, behind an ear, and at last we’d fallen asleep.

Now, in the light of our daytime, he rose and dressed while I watched with the same appreciation as I’d had in his undressing. He handed me the shirt I’d hung on the cheval mirror the night before and I slipped it on. I barely remembered coming home or walking upstairs, but saw my pants on the chair. I walked over and picked them up, then turned to Louis – no, I pressed into Louis, accidentally of course. “Oh,” I said in mock surprise. “Sorry.” He gave me a half-hearted scowl, grabbed my ass and then stepped away.

“You’re not in the least sorry.” He shook his head and remained there by the doorway as I dressed. 

“Not in the least.” I agreed, looking in the mirror. I shook my hair before running a hand through it. “Last night was wonderful. You know I’m going to ask you to move back in with me. It’s becoming a bit of a skit with us, don’t you think?” 

“A skit?” He raised his brows. “Well, I don’t know that I’d call it a skit, but I suppose in the odd, Lestat way of putting things, perhaps it is that after all. So you ask, and I hesitate and things are awkward for a minute, then I say, ‘Lestat, you know we’re not ready for that.’ Is that right?”

“It’s perfect!” I laughed. “So will you move back in with me Louis?”

“You’re impossible.” He shook his head and headed out into the hall. I followed behind, telling him he couldn’t break tradition. He paused on the landing so abruptly that I ran smack into him. 

“Lestat,” he caressed my shoulders. “I’m enjoying this time with you, really, but I have to get back to the house. Brian is…”

“Brian, of course.” I cut him off without thinking. The look he gave me was one of predictable disappointment. “Louis, I didn’t mean it the way it sounded, really.” I followed him down the stairs and into the entryway. He opened the door and started to leave, but I reached behind him and closed it. “Wait, just a minute, please? Let me say something before you leave while you’re mad at me all over again.” 

He sighed and I suggested we move out onto the banquette. The night air was warm and scented with jasmine and what I really might have liked is to walk with him, but our time for closeness had come to an end and so I had to say the things that had been on my mind here and now."Louis, listen... I don't want to fight. You're absolutely right and I have no grounds at all to tell you what you should or should not do, or with whom. Am I jealous of the time you're spending with Brian? In a way, yes. I would rather that you be sharing that intimacy with me, but after all that happened, I'll tell you, I think your moving out, our separation was the right thing to do." 

I watched for any reaction, but there was none. He simply returned my stare. "In fact, if you fall head over heels in love with Brian as you never have before, it would be justified and perhaps in some way, equally as fitting. Maybe that's what you need to do." I didn’t want to say more. I could sense that my words were provoking something within him, but whether that was anger or further disappointment I could not discern. Having said as much as I had, there was no point in falling silent. "Maybe you need to fall in love with someone else. You and I, by virtue of what we are to one another, will always be inexorably bound, but love... well, I haven't been a very true source, have I?”  
I heard him scoff, as if he couldn’t believe the audacity of a question that answered itself. “No no, I'm not being facetious, and I'm not trying to manipulate you into saying or doing anything here - I'm being serious. As much as I would admittedly feel jealous to know or see you with another, maybe that's what needs to happen, and I've prepared myself for it. If it’s not Brian, I'm sure there are other vampires - I know there are others, who have envied what I've had with you or... the best of what we had.”

He studied me and there was anger brewing in those green eyes. If he hadn’t been Louis, full of decorum, he might have had his mouth hanging open. I wondered whether to continue, but I didn’t want him to think I was saying that it was my wish to have him go out and fall in love. Christ, but why did I even talk at times? "I'm not saying that's what I want you to do. I'm saying that if that's what you want to do or, if it finds you, that I won't stand in the way. You deserve to be loved.... and loved well, and ... I'm sorry for failing you in that way." It was something of a grand admission for me and I backed away without taking my eyes from his. He stood there for many minutes taking measured breaths as he formulated his reply. The hint of anger I’d sensed earlier was not gone, but had changed somehow into more of an irritation. How could he be irritated when I’d simply shared my truest feelings? Isn’t that what he wanted from me? He shook his head slowly and turned as though he were simply going to walk off. Then he stopped, turned back to face me, and let it all out.

“You already know what I want. If I haven’t made it clear after all this time, I want you. I love Brian, of course I do, but if you think it’s anywhere near the same thing, you have gone mad. Brian knows it; he has never asked for more than he knows I can give. Don’t look at me that way, Lestat: I know his mind, no one better. Should he ask me, I would turn him for his loyalty and for love of him: I don’t want to see him die. He thinks about it often, you know. He holds back from asking because he knows that my doing so would not make a difference in how I feel about you. He knows it would not be the same for he and I; he even understands that it might essentially change things for the worse because he understands quite a lot about the nature of what we are. You offer me a choice when you know in your heart that there is no other choice for me: I cannot make it plainer that. I know your nature; I knew it when you wanted the wedding and I know it will happen again and again. What I don’t understand, what I will _never_ understand is why, even after I made it completely clear, you still went off without a word and never bothered to say where, or why. Never bothered to say, you needed for us to be apart because you wanted this boy, that girl. You hid it from me and then you made it known to me by asking me to help you with the choice that had already been made…or to kill the boy. I could have, you know. It almost happened and I stopped it for love of you. No, never mind how, or where…let him tell you if he will. It doesn’t matter now anyway. I asked for your honesty and you denied it to me. I deserved that too, as much as I deserve to be loved if indeed such a thing is true." He drew in a deep breath, and though his posture was not overly tense, his hands had curled into tight fists."Don’t tell me it’s not what you want unless it’s what I want. I heard the snark in your voice when you said his name. You can’t even hold that back, so why should I believe the rest of what you said?”

I started to respond, but could find no words. It was most unusual for Louis to let loose in such a fashion and I was at once amazed and amused, though I didn’t at all think he was trying to be amusing. Did he say he doubted whether he deserved to be loved? I couldn’t absorb all this at once.

“Understand me, Lestat. I know you mean well right now, I know you are trying to square the things you feel and I know you love me. I do trust that much, but I want you to stop telling me what _you_ think is right for me, what _you_ think I should do, that I shouldn’t love you because you can’t return it to me in the same way. I will do what I need to as I have always done. You are infuriating and conflicted and I despair of you ever knowing what it is you want -- from me, from life, from anything. I want you to know that if we are here a thousand years from now it will never change my love for you, but right now? I would gladly kick your ass up and down the French Quarter and be on my merry way.”

I blinked then blinked again. I raised my brows in response to that last sentiment. “Hm. Well then.” Was all I could say in response, and for that, I felt laughter threatening. Louis had to know that last bit would provoke an image in my head that would get me laughing – why did he say such things when he wanted serious conversation? Because he did know me, that’s why, and he couldn’t help but to make it just a bit amusing, because he knows I thrive on humor among other things. If I hadn’t laughed, I might well have overlooked anything he’d said to selfishly point out that what I’d said before his outburst was worthy of applause.

Before I could laugh, I simply stepped forward and kissed his cheek. “I love you Louis, I really do. Don't apologize, most of all because as you told me so readily, you're not in the least sorry, nor should you be. In fact, I think if you had more outbursts like that, we'd be better off." I backed up into the townhouse and closed the door halfway. "Give my best to Brian if you please, and we'll talk soon."


	5. Intel

**~Chapter Five~  
Lestat**

After he’d gone, I decided to spend the night in the converted residence we’d taken over next to the main townhouse. The entire upper floor now served as a multi-media sanctuary with the best acoustics money could buy. Here, we could watch movies in theater style, listen to a most impressive collection of music, or play the piano and other various instruments.. When I looked at the sleek black grand, propped open at the ready, I always smiled at the memory of the night Brian and several burly movers had delicately accomplished even getting it into the room. I could not help but to think as well, of the night Louis and I had initiated the piano in quite another rendition of the Appassionata.  
I might have settled on Chopin, for to me, the delicate notes of his nocturnes in particular, with their mysterious and wonderful blend of simple intricacy, were so representative of Louis. If I could paint a perfect night, it might be one in summer, just after the rain; Louis in my arms, and Chopin. How many times have I let my fingers play upon his flesh as though he were the music itself, come to life? Ah, such thoughts now when I was alone and he so torturously kept himself from me!

But no, I thought as I sat down to listen to an alternate selection of classical compositions – this separation was for the best as much as I hated to admit it and since Louis and I hadn’t had a grand argument in the time he’d been out of the house that logic seemed correct. I pictured him as he was just before he left me only hours ago and it brought a smile: Louis didn’t usually let himself give into such outbursts, and I had to say, it was rather a pleasant surprise to see. Of course anyone might imagine that it is me who has the temper tantrums here, there and anywhere there might be an audience. I’ll readily admit it, and poor Louis is often the only one to witness and endure my antics. The things he’d let spill out however, were long in coming and needed to be said. 

As the music played – to soothe my breast, whether savage or otherwise, I thought about Brian. I wondered in time if it would happen; if Louis would in fact bring him fully into this life. I thought often that Brian, as intelligent, handsome and witty as he was, deserved his own life quite apart from the service of two vampires. On the one hand, I found myself at times almost wanting to sever ties with him simply for that reason, to say go get your own house, your own everything… but I knew it would devastate him, and really what was he going to put on his resume: ‘Houseman and Assistant to Infamous Immortals’? Of course we could have made that all passable, but no, Brian couldn’t go back to a ‘normal’ life now. Once a mortal has been so enmeshed in our lives, there’s no turning back. The jury is still out as to whether that’s a blessing or damnation. Still, I had no argument if he were to turn Brian tomorrow night, did I? If the event came to pass, I would have no say in the matter. As Louis so abruptly reminded me on the doorstep, he would do exactly as he liked. Being who I am, how could I not smile at that little bit of defiant fury in his eyes?

Schubert turned to Handel and moved on to Beethoven as I sat idle, letting myself sink down further into the overstuffed chair. I thought of nothing for a while, simply drifting on the crescendos and diminuendos until I was lightly dozing; but from nowhere through the music, I heard a particular thing Louis had said. It was as clear as if he were standing in the room. _“It almost happened you know, but I saved him.”_ Saved him? Louis saved Tristan. My drowsy mind played over those simple words first as a statement, then as a question: Saved him from what, and when? I closed my eyes. I did not want to revisit the whole affair from memory, but reluctantly, I thought of my leaving Ravello to go see Daniel. Louis had been at the villa with David, and then… then what? They left together, yes? When I’d secured things with Daniel, I’d stopped over in the Auvergne and Louis had called me to say he and David were leaving Italy separately. I confess I was more than a little distracted by matters at hand and what’s more I don’t necessarily care about every little detail of where my ‘children’ are or what they’re doing. Do I need to confess also that this is true mostly until their whereabouts serve some immediate means to an end? What do you really expect from the Vampire Lestat, eh?

But where then had Louis seen Tristan and more importantly… who did he … I sat up in the chair with sudden clarity. _David._ His name teased my mind and slipped out of my mouth on a whisper. I nearly laughed in appreciation of the dark irony that revealed itself. Hadn’t it been me who stood on the terrace and said there were only two options and that those were to either turn or kill Tristan? I closed my eyes and tried to picture it, tried to get a bead on the scene in my mind, but nothing came of course, for if David had made such a decision and Louis had… had what? Intervened? Had he? He must have, yes of course for Tristan made it to the night of the turn in Daniel’s arms but… I sighed. There was only one means of investigation and as a familiar piece by J.S Bach began to play, I searched for him. As a newborn vampire unskilled in shielding his mind from an old hat like me, he was most easy to find.

I saw he and Daniel in somewhat dingy surroundings – what was it, an apartment and there with them, who was that? A vampire to be sure, but one with the appearance of a Hell’s Angel biker and as I had not yet slipped into anyone’s mind, I simply watched the scene until Tristan went outside. In this sort of remote viewing fashion, I followed him until he ducked into a sleazy bar. As he sat down to survey the mortal buffet before his young eyes, I descended and whispered his name. He jumped as I expected and looked around the room. _//Lestat?//_ he spoke aloud. _//Yes that’s right//_ , I answered. I could have begun a whole mental conversation with him or told him that he looked physically stunning – because he did. Tristan had the appearance of a youthful, carnal angel perhaps cast to earth for what he claimed to be an unwitting transgression. He was utterly beautiful, and again I thought that from the first night I’d seen him I’d envisioned him as he was now, enhanced by the blood – well, let me clarify – I’d envisioned it yes, but I maintain I never thought things between he and I would go so far as they did to where ultimately there was no other choice. I’m sure no one believes that from a notorious liar like me, but _revenons à nos moutons, oui_?

 _//Tristan, my, my…//_ I said in as polite a mind voice as I could muster. _//Do tell me won’t you, about your interlude with David. It was David, wasn’t it? He threatened you and then what???_ He continued to look around nervously as though I might appear out of nowhere, then he narrowed his eyes and steeled himself against me. 

_//Get out of my head.//_ He snarled with a mental voice as strong as my own. _//Do you think you have permission to slip inside my brain whenever it suits you? //_

 _//I think I don’t need to have permission when you are the only one to confirm such an interesting little scene. Did Louis dash in to save you in the nick of time from certain death? Oh but I wish I had been there to see it in person.//_

He closed his eyes and gave a valiant effort at pushing me out, but it was too late. The images were already sprung to life in his mind; seated in another tavern in another city, Rome precisely and there beside him, my own David. I could discern the dark hunger even in these few mental snippets, but underneath it, a current of anger toward me, a hatred in his eyes that is only reserved for one’s Maker.  
My physical self in the chair at the townhouse laughed with an equally dark understanding and that laughter reverberated in Tristan’s mind. He would understand it some night more fully than he could know at this juncture. I saw David reach for Tristan’s throat: Would he have killed him right there and then? It could have been done and any witnesses either similarly dispatched or misdirected, but it would have been unadvisable and quite outside David’s normal behavior. But that demented, pained light in his eyes again said that he was far removed from caring about normal decorum in that moment.

 _//Lestat, please//_ – Tristan whispered aloud. I felt those words sear my mind, for how often had I heard them with alternate inflection and meaning. _//Lestat please, Lestat more, Lestat please, yes…//_ \- but there was no time for such ruminations now, and indeed I found the thought more intrusive than inviting and for that fact, I did the mental equivalent of changing the channel back to the program featuring Louis and David before I could miss the drama. The scene unfolded with Louis there suddenly, his hand on David’s arm as he told him it was not what I would want despite my own careless words to the contrary. Tristan’s drunken and emaciated self was roused by a sudden infusion of terror as he realized who these characters were in the larger picture. Even in fear, he had been understandably distracted by Louis’ beauty. Who isn’t? _"Brother, do not do this thing,"_ Louis had said. I felt his own suffering so greatly at that moment that it and nothing else made me shift and close the scene in Tristan’s mind. 

In the next instant, I was gone from him and fully conscious of my surroundings; mostly of the fact that my cheeks were wet with tears, most appropriately to some soft, new age nonsense that had replaced the classical.  
Louis’ pain had invaded me: There hadn’t even been one flicker in his thoughts or countenance that said his thoughts on the matter were torn. He hadn’t paused to consider whether it would be justified or ‘better’ to kill Tristan. He had intervened without hesitation – for no one but me.

NEXT: Chapter Six


	6. Disclosure and Reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edging closer, yet still so far away.

**~Chapter Six~  
**

**Disclosure**

**(Lestat)**

I sensed him as he rounded the corner at Ursulines, but made no move to get up from where I sat on the cool flagstones in our courtyard near the koi pool. Since our separation – since _his_ decision to separate from me, that is – there had been several similar nights when I felt Louis’ presence nearby only to sense as well that he had passed by the townhouse or on one occasion, passed a block away from me as I sat outside a café on Magazine Street. While I obviously couldn’t read his thoughts, vampires can always sense other vampires, and particularly a maker could feel his fledglings in a strangely vibrational way. So as I sat there pulling weeds out of the berm along the pond and pinching the spent flowers away, I loosely tuned into that sensation along with the classical music that wafted gently from the speakers Brian had installed and soon I was thinking of nothing much at all.

“Lestat.”

I heard my name said in a way that was unique to Louis – that being something of a question and a statement at once. I turned to look and there he stood looking fresh despite the heat that had erupted over the last few nights to remind us all that New Orleans summer was on the way. I stood up and wiped my hands free of the dirt and brushed the hair back from my forehead.

“Hello beautiful,” I said happily. “What a lovely surprise.” Of course he knew I would have detected his approach, but he also knew my tendency toward distraction. 

“If you were in the middle of something, I can return another time,” he teased. “Brian had planned to come Tuesday to take care of the pond and prune some of the early growth on the plumbago and jasmine. Maybe I should inform him that you have it all well in hand?”

“Come now, you know he has the touch for that sort of thing. I was simply passing the time and once I’d begun it felt rather therapeutic.” I looked over to where I’d smoothed the dirt and cleared many of the dead buds away. “I don’t think I did too badly?”

He looked past me briefly. “You sat on a clump of liriope, but it’s nothing irreparable.”

I brushed the back of my pants self-consciously. “Seems like the heat is settling in early this year.” 

“It is, yes. Quite a good thing you bought yourself those shorts.” 

“You don’t like them?”

“With the coloration to your skin you can wear them without attracting attention. If I walked down the street in shorts and a tank top, people would think I was anemic and then some. I’m just not accustomed to seeing you in them.”

“You should come around more then perhaps.” I went closer and took his hands in mine. “It feels like more than just a few weeks since I’ve seen you.” He led me over to the bench along the back wall that sat in an alcove between two water statues at the end of the pond.

“I wanted to apologize for the way I lashed out. You know that’s not typical of me.” 

His smile was gentle and I had to actually look away for a moment if I intended to reply. Even after all this time, his eyes can leave me breathless. “Not typical, but I deserved it. Maybe you should let loose more often.” I ventured a questioning smile.

“We’ll always be quite different when it comes to expressing ourselves, Lestat.”

He was right of course. Louis most always had a measured way of speaking, regardless of the subject and certainly if he was angered. He would pause and take on an almost inquisitive expression as if he was for a moment hearing himself as he said the more impulsive, probably detrimental choice of words. He would then relax and something far more eloquent would roll off his tongue. Make no mistake, he could be venomous and cut to the core; the fact that he took the time to think of what had been said to him and how to succinctly reply often inflicted a deeper pain than my typical snide and flippant insults. Still, I often played a little game with myself as I observed this particular Louis-ism. I would not merely run through the litany of what he might have said, but picture him in a paroxysm of vulgar vernacular. Of course this was something I envisioned only if the target wasn’t me and it had let to several instances where I’d had to excuse myself for laughing most inappropriately at one social event or another. When I was the target of his anger, less often than I deserved … oh no, I usually provoked and encouraged his anger because I wanted that and his passion as much as I ever had – it might be one of my worst habits, provoking him in that way and there was really no need for me to be a deliberate ass about it when he was definitely passionate in other ways.

“Lestat?” He touched my shoulder gently to reclaim my attention. 

“Yes, I suppose so.” I felt a sudden wave of melancholy as I once again took his hands. “Louis, you have nothing to apologize for, but I do.” He shifted his weight and I figured he thought I was merely going to once again speak in general terms. “No, listen to me: I don’t mean just about everything that took place recently, and I don’t mean about every other careless and insensitive thing I’ve done in our time together. I’m speaking of a specific thing that you did, actually.”

“Something I did that causes you to feel apologetic?” He lifted his perfectly arched brows only slightly. 

“Something I saw, rather.” I hesitated to say more. Some might argue the point that one reason I didn’t want to be the one to turn Tristan was so I could have the mind-sharing ability with him, but I will argue that as being a very slim fraction of the whole. For Louis though, it was huge. Since the night of his immortal birth, he had mourned for the absence of that ability and in truth, there were many more times than he even knew when I too wished it were possible. When we drank from one another, especially when we were being physically intimate, there was a version of being able to read one another’s thoughts; to describe it I might say it was like watching a television with the sound turned down, but it was precious to him. That I could slip into Tristan’s mind and he into mine whenever we may choose was nothing I could or would flaunt, but I didn’t have to – he was more than aware of the fact and the last thing I wanted to do was bring more hurt to him – or to us.

“You’re wandering again,” he admonished gently. 

“Sorry.” I leaned over and kissed his cheek and he lowered his head slightly. How sweet and tragic that we each wanted more. I waited until he looked up before continuing. “You told me that you saved him. Tristan.” There was no sense in avoiding his name, I figured. “You said that if I wanted to know more about it, I should ask him.”

“So you did, I’m assuming?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

His eyes went opaque then, a defensive reaction I had seen far too often. “You saw it in his mind," he said.

“Yes. I didn’t feel he’d do much more than shout a few choice Italian obscenities in my ear.” He nodded but didn’t offer further reply. “What matters is that I saw the whole scene, Louis. I saw Tristan seated at the bar, and David … David was so angry he had fire in his eyes, and you… there you were to stop him. He was going to kill Tristan because he was so disgusted with the whole situation and the hurt that I had once again, perhaps more deeply than ever inflicted onto you. For that, you could have stood by and let David be done with it, but you stayed his hand.”

“Lestat I,” he began.

“No, listen to me please.” I searched his impossibly green eyes and continued. “If you had, I’d have had no cause to denounce the action. I was the one who said it was either kill him or turn him and by that point it was the truth. But you knew, Louis, you my beloved, you knew it wasn’t what I wanted in the end and…” I paused only to draw in a breath and tell myself not to break down with all I was feeling. “and you wouldn’t have, you didn’t want to kill him either. It’s not what you would have done, because you knew none of it was his fault, and you knew his pain. So you saved him. Oh, Louis…” He waited as I shook my head. It was almost too much to continue through and explain what I’d really seen that night as I looked through Tristan’s eyes. “Louis… When I was there in his mind calling up that memory, looking through his eyes, I saw you…”

“Yes,” he said quietly, as if he were seeing it all over again.

It was my turn to lower my head. I could not bear to look into his eyes as I spoke the rest. “I saw you look into Tristan’s eyes, and I will swear that you were looking right into my own soul, Louis, that you were looking at the future me that you knew would one night go fishing for that very moment in time. In that moment, it was only you looking at me as I looked at you.” A great shiver ran through me as it had when the initial realization struck, and I fell silent. For several minutes only the sounds of the early summer insects filled the air and then he touched my face with a lover’s hand and lifted my chin.

**Reaction**

**(Louis)**

Lestat did not meet my eyes as he laid these truths before me; he knew it would cause me pain. He knew it but he did it anyway, leaning only on trust that I would accept it as a thing I had repeatedly asked of him. This vulnerability took the breath from me and even as I knelt before  
him and cupped his face so I could look into his eyes, I wondered if I would be able to speak, to explain what it meant to me. “Only you.” I whispered. “Only you could flay me and heal me with the same blade.” If I had any doubt that he did not understand what had caused this rift  
between us, it was gone, burned away in the words he’d spoken. I heard my pain in his voice.

Lestat gave me far too much credit with regards to Tristan. When I had looked into Tristan’s eyes, I’d seen his fear and I’d seen a spark as well, possibly the very thing that had attracted Lestat to him beyond the pretty package. I had also seen Lestat in his mind’s eye, a beautiful,  
golden creature, searing his thoughts, driving him to madness. When I saw their eyes meet in Tristan’s memory it was as though I gazed into a window, a part of Lestat I don’t like to look at because it was a scene that had repeatedly taken Lestat from me. This time I did not look away  
and that was how I knew that I could not be a party to the pain Tristan’s death would bring him. Had I looked to the future, foreseen the moment? Only in my aim to protect Lestat. Tristan was indeed an innocent in all that had happened, but my concern had not been for him at that moment, it had been to protect David from the rift such an action might have caused. 

“I saw you, but not in the way you suggest.” I said in a ragged voice. I pressed my cheek to his and he went utterly still as though he, too, hardly dared to take a breath. Sometimes we don’t need the link, the thing that I miss from those long ago nights—sometimes what we are to one another kindles and reaches a flashpoint that says more than words or thoughts alone, moments of pure, high emotion. This is beyond physical longing, beyond passion, a nearly unendurable level of feeling.

The moment passed and we pulled in breath at the same time staring at each other in shared wonder. I rocked back on my heels and rose unsteadily. When he looked up at me, I lay a hand on his shoulder. “I need to leave. I need to think.” He nodded, his eyes unreadable, somehow far away. I could not tell if he understood my abrupt  
departure or not.

*****

Decatur Street was once known as the Rue de la Levée and you can still see this name on the quaint black and white street signs used in the French Quarter. Decatur Street runs alongside the Mississippi until the bend at Canal Street and if you cross Decatur and the tracks of the street car spur that also parallels the river, there are short flights of stair steps set at intervals so that people may easily access a wide promenade along the crest of the levee.

At this hour, I had the promenade mostly to myself though a few people moved along, perhaps enjoying the welcome breeze off the river. 200-odd years ago this same spot would have been unrecognizable to modern eyes. The river had been filthy then just as it is now, though the effluvia was somewhat dissimilar. Back then this relatively peaceful spot would have been loud with activity that never ceased, night or day and the skyline obscured with a forest of masts from every conceivable kind of watercraft. Not much further from where I now walked there had been nests of taverns offering all manner of vice to travelers and denizens of the city alike. It was in one of those beastly little establishments that Lestat had seen me for the first time and to this day I wonder how he’d fastened on me over all the humanity that was contained in such a small area. A considered victim; he’d told me that even then, but he’d never explained fully what had changed his mind. And now, here we were, 

Lestat and I, in the same city, pulled along through time by the strange tides of our blood and strong yet fickle current of the love we bore for one another. His words earlier had left me speechless; stunned as though I’d been dealt a blow. I did not doubt what he’d related; his tone as he’d described seeing me through the lens of Tristan’s mortal eyes had been filled with pain and no little astonishment. I thought back to that night,--David ‘s feral eyes and the boy, gaunt and frightened but not quite cowed. Could it have been that spark of defiance that might have stayed David’s hand in the moments before I arrived? Possible. I don’t remember being aware of my surroundings or the mortals in the small, darksome little bar, only focusing on reasoning with David. Tristan caught my attention when he’d demanded to know where Lestat was. I remembering looking directly at him and holding his gaze for a brief moment before he looked away. The moment when Lestat found me in this future measure of Tristan’s mind--and I don’t even know if that makes sense-- it made my head hurt to think of it, though God knows nothing should really surprise me—but at that moment what, exactly, had been in my mind? Pain. Surely pain: I remember little else from those unendurable nights in Italy. Toward Tristan…a chilly indifference to his plea brought on by the brief bombardment of images I caught from him, seeing Lestat, as it were, through his eyes.

In my reverie, I’d walked to the foot of Canal Street, leaning against the high concrete wall near the steps that lead up to the aquarium. He had seen my pain, come as close to experiencing it as he could without direct access to my thoughts. Did this change things? What would it mean going forward? I didn’t know but the odds of predicting what Lestat might do are high indeed.; I know I wouldn’t lay a wager on it with anything near accuracy. 

God knows I wanted him. My abrupt leave-taking hinged on my weakening will. My flesh cried out for him, my mouth craved the taste of him; I felt like I was dissolving somehow. I had not felt whole since he’d left me: it had taken those years alone and his indulgence with Tristan to finally make me realize that I should simply do as he’d suggested many times before. I didn’t want it: I never had, yet it seemed that there was at last some progress, some rapprochement that just might be workable.

Maybe.

I reached the end of Royal Street again and swung aboard the streetcar. I hardly knew what to feel—once again Lestat had shaken me to the core without even getting up from the garden. I felt a secret smile then; Lestat seated on the ground in his shorts and his chest bared beneath his unbuttoned shirt. I was as confused as I’d ever been in my long life but I felt a change, a nascent flame of hope, though I was still not sure what it was I was hoping for.

NEXT: Chapter 7


	7. Parq - Confrontation

**~Chapter Seven~  
Parq**

**Lestat**

I barely heard his words; he was leaving me? All I could think about was the expression on his face as I’d told him what I had seen through Tristan’s eyes. The explanation was nothing short of reliving it all over again and as if that wasn’t traumatic enough, there was Louis with a world of pain in his eyes. Had I expected something different? I think truthfully I had hoped for him to see my understanding of his pain over the whole situation more than any misinterpretation of it on my behalf. Hell, I don’t know what I had expected. Would it have been better for me to lie to him? I could have of course and surely he is aware of the fact. If I’d said that I picked up the phone, called Tristan and made him confess every last detail, or even if I had told him I’d gone to see Tristan in person, Louis may not have known. This is the rub, to be certain; he can’t pop inside my head and do a polygraph. Sometimes that’s a good thing and sometimes not, but in this case it doesn’t matter because I deliberately gave him the truth. The saying, “be careful what you wish for”, is equally as truthful for vampires as it is for mortals. He wanted my honesty, but there we had been in our beautiful courtyard and I could see it singe his heart like a magnified sunray.

“Louis?” I looked up but he was already gone. I dug my cell phone from the ridiculously deep pocket of the shorts and checked the time. It was just after midnight. I thought of calling him but like me, he wouldn’t answer if his thoughts were jangled. What good would a phone call do anyhow? What would I say? “Louis, let’s be reasonable. Let’s go sit at Chartres House Cafe and watch the tourists while we chat about all this.” No, that wouldn’t do at all. I sighed heavily as I stood for a minute watching the multi-colored fish swim about without a care. I walked through the gates that led to Royal and looked up and down the street. For a moment I brought down the mental block that works to block out the thoughts of nearby mortals – it was something like peeking out the window to see who happens to be out and about at any given hour. I could hear drunken laughter, arguments and all the usual cacophony, but I had no sense that Louis had stayed within my sensory range. I knew his habits though and with it being relatively early, he would want some time alone rather than heading immediately back to the house. Brian would have given him privacy, but Louis would prefer to walk in looking completely put together with no need for aid or sympathy. He wasn’t someone who, in times of misery became even more demonstrative than usual, not that I knew anyone like that of course.

I headed toward Canal Street surprised by the minimal pedestrian traffic, but that was for the best. Louis would have hopped a streetcar back toward the park and as I boarded the St. Charles car, I was relieved that it held what appeared to be a few locals rather than a bunch of gabbing tourists. Louis and I took the streetcars often for they are very convenient and hm… how to say this nicely – for me, they can be a … well, you know how you walk into the kitchen, open the refrigerator door and hang on it kind of looking for whatever might suit your craving? It’s kind of like that, though Louis can always tell when I’m browsing the menu so to speak and he’ll shoot me this sort of aggravated parent look and out of obligation, I’ll return it with my best _‘I wasn’t doing anything’_ expression. The thought of it made me smile as the cables hummed softly and as the car trundled along St. Charles, I missed him intimately – in the way only long-time lovers can miss one another. I had hurt him once again with my revelation, but I knew it wasn’t the same degree of injury. What was it then? I had shocked him, that’s what. I shook my head at the thought – yes, I’d shocked him not merely for what I’d seen, but there was no doubt he had felt it too. Judging by the expression on his face, he absolutely must have relived it with me as I’d detailed the scene and that as such he’d seen _himself _seeing _me_ seeing _him_ – what a beautifully strange commotion.__

__A young man next to me yawned loudly and stared with slack-jawed curiosity. Sometimes vampires think too loudly; if a person is in the middle of a task and suddenly thinks of something completely unfamiliar or unrelated – then wonders why they’d ever think of something so foreign, it’s probably not _their_ thought at all but one being delivered – usually quite unintentionally. I managed a terse smile and pushed the suggestion of intense hunger. It worked and in famished distraction, he got off at the next stop. I’d said it many times before, but really it’s the simple truth: it’s so easy you almost felt sorry for them._ _

__The car passed one of the more elegant little hotels on St. Charles and the few remaining passengers turned to see two nicely dressed women near a limousine engaged in a hair-pulling obscenity-laced fight. Security came running from around the corner of the building, but our window of observation closed as the streetcar continued rolling to where I got off at the corner of the park. I cut across the lawn, heading for the general direction of the house Louis was living in and paused beneath one of the many spreading oaks. I closed my eyes and knew that he was here in the quiet of this place. Frogs sang in the long, waving reeds and nearby a mockingbird muttered sleepily in the high branches of a magnolia. I recalled the evening we’d sat on the porch not so long ago, listening to these same peaceful sounds. I walked farther along the landscaped path toward the slow moving creek that wends through the park and golf course; there is a garden there that Louis favors, complete with classical statuary and I felt certain that was where I’d find him. I didn’t know what in the world I was planning to say to him or why I’d even come, and that rush of anxiety mixed with something more. It was a strange cocktail of longing, regret and yet, something more I could not define. In short, dear God, I wanted him in my arms. I wanted no words, no apologies, no explanations or excuses… I wanted nothing more than what we had always been and what we were, here and now in the night._ _

__“Louis?” I said softly as I passed a fragrant hedge. The dim amber security light cast a theatrical glow in the semi-circle where he sat on the edge of the fountain, flanked by cherubs as he trailed his fingers in the water. He looked up only for a moment then continued as if he hadn’t seen me at all. I walked over and stood in awkward silence. Typically, I might have said something amusing, but this moment wasn’t typical. “Louis, I just wanted you to know that I understood what you did, that I felt…”_ _

__“Didn’t I say I wanted some time to think?” he said gruffly as he rose and turned toward me. “But why should you listen? You wanted me to know you understood what, Lestat? Just go, please.”_ _

__I put my hand on his sleeve tentatively. “Don’t shut me out. I know this hurts you, I know you’re torn but Louis please--” He pulled away and began to walk off toward the dark shelter of the larger live oaks._ _

__“Leave me to think,” he said. I heard him perfectly despite his walking away. “I’ll come by in a few nights.”_ _

__I caught up to him and this time, pulled on his arm none too gently. “Think? Do you mean go to your room and play it over and over in your head until you’re exhausted? Louis, I could have called him, or Christ, I could have _said_ that I called him and lied about the whole thing. I could have blown it all off and said it didn’t matter, and what David nearly did, let me tell you something – it _doesn’t_ matter to me. What matters is what you did and why you did it and if I had lied to you or gone about it in some different way, I wouldn’t have seen what you did for _me_ and no one else.” _ _

__His expression was weary but agitated. “So you went about it as you did to… ah, no, it makes no difference why. Please, Lestat, let me have a bit of time to sort it all out”_ _

__I shook my head. “No.”_ _

__“No?” he made a face as if he were considering the word as some foreign thing._ _

__“What does it matter now, the how and why of it all?” I stepped close to him, defiant but certain. I knew he was not the type to just lay something down and get over it especially just because I said that’s what he should do, but damned if I could suffer and watch him suffer as well. Why couldn’t we both just lay it down and put it to rest? If we could just do that then…my thoughts were cut off as he pushed me backward, hard enough that I stumbled. Before I could utter a hearty ‘what the hell?’ he was pressed against my chest and I steadied in time to avoid falling on my ass. The next thing I felt was the rough bark of one of the massive live oaks pushing into my back as he pressed against me. He paused then, inches from my face. Breathlessly, I coaxed him. “We’re here now, Louis. Don’t think.”_ _

__He said nothing, but his eyes shone with hunger and when he crudely pulled the buttons of my shirt apart and again I pressed against him eagerly. He put one hand around my throat; his long, elegant fingers flexed and pressed tighter, then relaxed and traveled up my neck to offer a familiar caress to my cheek. I leaned against his hand as he knew I would, and as I closed my eyes, he pressed closer and sank his teeth into my neck. I inhaled and then the night air seemed to echo with the staccato of my breath. The sweet, searing pain was the song of a lover who has been too long denied that which for him is life itself. He paused only long enough to bring his blood-stained lips to mine for a kiss that held all the pain of our recent turmoil and the last years of separation before it. He bit at my lip and hissed my name as if it were a most delicious poison. Before I could say a word, he drank once more as his fingers wound in my hair and I pulled him to me. I moved my hands beneath his linen shirt to caress his lean back. I wanted it off of him, I wanted him now, right here in the park and when I could take no more I begged aloud, “Please, Louis… my God, please make love to me.”_ _

__With a faint laugh he played his lips over mine once more. “Ah, Lestat,” He hissed the ‘s’ of my name deliberately as he let one hand travel downward and rub firmly against the pronouncement beneath the thin material. “I know what you want.” The blood fueled his words and I leaned close to kiss and nip at his neck. I did want – desperately. “But, what was that little word you used only moments ago, my love?” I paused to think but as he asked the question, he gave a hurtful squeeze to the tip of what begged for more of his hand. “I believe you said,” he leaned close and bit my earlobe, pulling away as he finished the remark, “No.” There was that wicked little laugh again and before I could protest, he had stepped back, given me a look to rival any of my own how-do-you-like-that expressions, and was off with the speed only our kind could achieve._ _

__I pushed away from the roughness of the tree and stood there disbelieving. Did he really just jet off and leave me with … I scoffed and spoke aloud. “You bastard – no, that’s fine Louis, that’s fine. You just wait, it’s not too long away I promise and when it does happen…” I let my words fall away. There was no one there to listen, but I shook my head as I walked away; Soon, Louis._ _

____

**Confrontation  
Lestat**

I certainly wasn’t going to go back to the townhouse and spend the rest of the night proverbially stewing in my own juices. Truthfully, I was amused at Louis’ teasing; it was so like something I would do. As I’d said there and then, it would only serve to make the moment better when it finally arrived and I had a feeling it would be sooner than later. For now, all I could do was imagine what the future may hold and content myself with remembrance of our many physical interludes.

Besides, I had some other business to attend to.

Like a proper gentleman, I knocked on the door of David’s house and was dutifully greeted by Charles. For some reason, the sight of him caused me to bristle. I hadn’t favored David’s Man Friday since he made the move to the States some years ago and even now there was just something about him that irritated me without provocation. Perhaps it was the degree to which he catered to David; there was service and then there was being an over-eager lap dog. I think that’s how I perceived Charles and as I entered the foyer, I told myself to look out for wet spots on the floor. I was agitated by Louis’ rebuff, that was true enough and though I hadn’t planned on addressing David’s near extinguishment of dear Tristan, here I stood and when the less than pleasant thoughts about Charles flashed through my head, I realized I was more aggravated by the whole thing than might show on the surface.

He came from upstairs and flashed the usual genuine smile he wore when I made unexpected visits. “Lestat,” he said, “How wonderful! Do come in. I’ve been wondering where you were keeping yourself over the last few weeks.”  
He led me into the front parlor – the ‘living room’, as it was called in contemporary terms, and I silently noted that he’d refurnished it since my last visit. Abstractly, I wondered what he’d done with the antique desk I’d always favored. He invited me to sit, but I remained near a new mahogany book case; the oiled wood had a most pleasant scent and I ran my hand across the top shelf as I noted the titles he’d collected. “I’m not here on a warm social call, David.”

“Oh?” He stayed his body mid-air and then continued until he was seated in the new wingback chair near the fireplace. “Then to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“I know what happened in the little bar in Rome,” I shrugged quite casually and pursed my lips as though remembering something from afar.  
“You know, where you nearly killed Tristan with your bare hands? What a sight it was I’m sure.”

“Lestat I made sure the other patrons--,” he began.

“Oh I know the details.” I snapped. “I saw it all quite well through Tristan’s eyes just a few nights ago. You did it out of frustration and largely, you did it for Louis. Because of that, I’m not going to launch into a tirade or even condemn your behavior.” I laughed bitterly. “Hell, I’m in no position to condemn anyone’s behavior, what am I saying? What I came to tell you is that regardless of whether I understand your reasons doesn’t mean I am indifferent.”

“You should be indifferent. You’re the one who so carelessly said it was a case of either turning him or killing him. If I remember correctly, you even said Louis or I could be the ones to do it so far as you cared.”

“I don’t need you to remind me of what I said.” My eyes narrowed.

“I think you do,” he countered in an equally cold tone. 

“Yes well, what I think you should concentrate on are your larger, more imminent problems, and that I should and will focus on reparations with Louis.”

He tilted his head in thought for a few moments. “Just what do you mean my more imminent problems?”

I backed up into the foyer and spun a little on my heel. Ever the showman I did a little circle with my hand before presenting the spectacle. “Now could it be that you really don’t know?” I said sarcastically. “I suppose it’s possible that he’s kept his word, but I didn’t expect him to since we’re all such magnificent liars.”

“What on earth are you talking about Lestat? Stop acting like a fool and get on with it. I’m not eager to participate in your games.” He had risen and followed me and now leaned against the balustrade. 

“Is it a game then? Let’s leave it as such. You won’t have to think too long to know just what I reference. You had it on your mind the whole time you were in Italy and it’s closer than you think. I expect it… _he_ … will keep you occupied, and that’s a good thing.” I regarded him smugly. “Yes, I think that’s for the best.”

“And just why is that? Do go on – I know you’re not finished.”

“Indeterminately, David, I think I’ll be taking a break from spending time with you, and I don’t mean that I’ll be taking myself off to anywhere for weeks or months on a whim. I mean it quite personally. You’ll believe it to be for one reason or another, but I’m sure you’ll soon have enough to occupy your time.”

He turned to walk away but paused and faced me once more. “Just why are you being so hateful, Lestat? A few weeks without Louis’ passion and the bitterness you deserve to taste causes you to lash out this way?”

Nonplussed, I appeared to consider it for a moment. “Let’s talk about Petronia, shall we?” I gasped softly, mocking surprise that I knew about such things. “Messing with Tristan is one thing: You’re so right - I said he could die or be turned. Louis at least knew well enough to stay your hand. He knew it wasn’t what I truly wanted and you knew as well. Don’t tell me you were merely concerned for Louis and woeful at my carelessness with his heart. Louis has been caring for himself for longer than you’ve been in that body, but David my dear David - aren’t you so awfully similar to me in the end? You are – and you know it.” I laughed as he stood there under my verbal assault. “You had to push it further. You see… I understand that all too well. You can tell me all you want that you didn't summon Petronia, but I think you were in the mind to summon someone, _anyone,_ to take your mind off of fledglings in general and what? You were going to encourage Petronia to join me in battle?” I cocked my head disbelievingly. "You thought it would be a good idea for her to confront and provoke a physical battle with me, David? To what end? To take your mind off your own issues that are obviously far more deeply rooted that I or anyone might realize? I mean really, if it weren’t so asinine, it might just be hilarious fodder for a sitcom or at least one of the graphic novels you adore.”

I headed for the door as I continued. “So ask yourself - am I speaking to you hatefully? Resentfully? I could argue justifiably for either adjective, but what you’re hearing is the voice of disbelief that you of all people would do such a thing. You have _no_ idea what you may have put into motion by riling her from whatever purgatory she inhabited.” 

He said nothing but turned as he’d done before and left the room without another word. I felt a grimly victorious tenseness pull at my lips as I let myself out into the night, one of the mean little expressions I was famous for in the movies. There was nothing to do now but return to the townhouse and hope for sleep that was uninterrupted by ancient voices; There was nothing to do but hope he hadn’t opened a gateway that all of us would regret. 

NEXT: Chapter 8


	8. LaTrobe Park - Le Balcon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestat and Louis continue their efforts toward rapprochment.

**Latrobe  
(Lestat)**

There's a little green space called LaTrobe Park nestled between Decatur Street and the French Market.It's only a few bocks from the townhouse and in better times, Louis and I often spent time there. I was the one who suggested we meet there this evening, neutral ground if you will. The space is narrow and tree-shrouded; I imagine during the day the benches set in cool shade offer respite for heated tourists and their aching feet, a place to enjoy a cool drink and some conversation, perhaps. At night it's a shadowy place, less lighted perhaps than it should be, but that's of no account to me, eh? I was seated on a bench at the wider end of the park, watching the few tourists that strolled past. Most of the street kids had departed and the few that remained took their skateboards to the other side of the market stalls. I heard a couple shouting at one another beyond the fence on Decatur; the heat always made such arguments worse and for me, harder to ignore.

Several weeks had passed since the night Louis left me miserably aroused and tonight I told myself, I would damn well stalk off and relieve myself before he’d do it again. Of course I’d started it and he was only playing the game in my style, but as usual I wanted to be the one to get away with things.

He came around the corner, passing through the iron gateposts and my breath caught for several seconds. No matter how many times I’ve seen him approaching, it still has that effect. The word ‘breathtaking’ is a casual adjective, but the word might well have been created for Louis. I stood and greeted him with a gentle embrace and a lingering kiss on his cheek. “My Louis,” I said without a second thought. Regardless of this separation or any in the past or future, that is what he would be. “Only you could look so cool and collected in this heat.” 

“I can’t get away with wearing shorts,” he replied and we sat down with our backs facing the hedgerow. “You have beautiful legs. Have I told you?” 

“And you have beautiful everything, have I told you?” I couldn’t keep from flirting with him – but beyond that I was simply telling the truth. 

“Yes, you’ve told me often how beautiful you find my ‘everything’,” he teased. 

“Ah now see?” I pushed his shoulder gently. “You’ll get me started again and leave me high and dry. Well I’m prepared for it this time so you can forget about it.”

He laughed softly. “You don’t like it when I behave like you, is that it?”

“Precisely.” I said and stroked his thigh for emphasis. What I really wanted to do was to drag him to one of the vacant stalls in the market and do all manner of unspeakably lustful things to him, but that had to wait. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

“You know I can’t stay away from you for too long, Lestat.”

“Don’t tell me that, darling. I’ll be reduced to begging you to move back to the townhouse.” He looked at me patiently. “You could, you know.”

“In time,” he nodded.

For a while we simply sat together in silence and watched the few remaining mortals go about their way. The long-haired boys flipped their skateboards up into their hands and stood around smoking a joint. The couple who had been arguing outside the bar made their way across the street and while their tone was more subdued, they were by no means finished with the debate. She was telling him that he was never home because he worked so much, and he was pointing out to her that if he didn’t work so much, she wouldn’t have a home. He looked at Louis and me to confirm that we understood and agreed with his point of view though we said nothing one way or another. The woman threw up her hands as she stalked off, and he followed after narrowing his eyes and again looking our way in exasperation. I looked at Louis then to the man and shrugged. Don’t look at me pal, this is my husband and we never fight. At that, I laughed out loud and Louis looked at me sternly. 

“I wasn’t mocking him.” I said with exaggerated innocence on my face. “I was simply thinking that it’s a good thing we don’t have jobs as one more thing to come between us.”

“True enough,” he said as he leaned forward to watch the man nearly get his balls taken off as his wife slammed the door of their Mercedes – which his job paid for as well. 

“Though I’m sure we’d both work. It’s not as if one of us would be stuck taking care of the other.”

I pictured Louis in a suit and tie, buckling down for a nine-to-five job and shook my head. “And just what profession would you have? Maybe I’d want you to take care of me.”

“I’m sure you would, but I’d make your lazy ass get a job.” 

“Ahem… I had a job, you recall.”

“Your time as a rock star?” He laughed, “That’s hardly the same as being a mechanic or a line cook.” 

“It’s still a job.” I argued. “You’re saying that’s what you’d do if you had to work? Somehow I can’t see you slinging hash at the Clover Grill.” Truthfully, I could picture his mortal self, there with that long black hair tied back as the orders came in one after the other. The kind of guy the customers get a look at and think he should be modeling instead of slaving away in a hot kitchen; certain customers might see him and fantasize about him getting off work, stepping out into the alley and pulling off his whites to reveal that perfect, sweaty torso and then…

“Lestat?” He cocked his head. 

“Yes, well anyway, I was just thinking that even if it was menial work, you’d bring a dose of glamor to the job.” 

“Is there such a thing as menial work, Lestat? To a degree, it’s all important I think. But no, I wouldn’t as you say, ‘sling hash’, if I had to work for a living. I think I’d be a bookie.”

“A bookie?” I laughed loud enough that the stoners gave me a dirty look for disrupting their enlightenment. I gave them a look that went from apologetic to menacing, and they stalked off toward Margaritaville to leave my love and I as the only occupants of the area. “Why on earth would you be a bookie, Louis? You have brains and beauty – and the patience of a saint. Your mortal self would be much better suited for something like teaching piano to spoiled rich children.” 

“I’ve done that too if you’ll recall,” he said quietly.

Of course he had, and I felt careless for the remark. He’d spent hours teaching Claudia the basics on both the harpsichord and piano while I watched them with amazement and at times a bit of jealousy for the intimacy they shared. “Mm, you have, yes.” I said then without furthering the memory into life. “But a bookie you say? You and Daniel might start up a business together.”

“Why? Is Daniel in the habit of taking bets?” He shifted on the bench and I focused on the nape of his neck as he pushed back his hair.

“No, he’s rather on the other end of things from what I gather.” I watched that spot intently until I realized he was looking at me. “Some aspect of enforcement, I guess.”

“Are you telling me Daniel’s a hit man?” His expression was disbelieving, but I didn’t refute the fact.

“As I said, I don’t know – something like that. I got the impression he was more of a hit-man supervisor if there is such a thing. He didn’t really disclose this to me. I simply learned of it when I spoke to him in London. It was sort of a don’t ask, don’t tell situation and I got the impression it isn’t a regular job, if that’s what we’re speaking of in the first place.”

“Interesting.” He sat for a moment and thought it over. “Have you spoken to him since he and Tristan were here?”

“No.” I waited to see where he might go with the question. 

“Have you spoken to Tristan?” 

“No, though I get the feeling that’s for the best just now.”

“I hope your judgment in selecting Daniel to be his maker proves to be good for the boy.” 

He looked away and leaned down to rest his elbows on his legs. I was touched that he would think of Tristan in such a way. In truth I knew that because of his kind heart, Louis would harbor no resentment toward him directly – why should he when my dishonesty and overt callousness was the true cause of his pain? “Louis, I want to say again that I’m sorry. I know you’re going to say that I don’t have to apologize again but I’m doing it anyway.” I took his hand in mine and he turned toward me as he sat up. “I want you to know too, that even if I get impatient while we’re apart, I’m glad we’re doing things the way we are: You always know the best way to manage things. Forget being a bookie, your wisdom and diplomacy would be suited for something much better.”

“Things seem different this time between us, wouldn’t you agree?” He smiled reassuringly. “I’ve seen differences in you, even if I haven’t mentioned it.”

“I understand that if I'd have taken care to better demonstrate the love I have for you, we might not be apart. But you know, the fact that we cannot ... the fact that we're forced to verbally communicate rather than doing so by other means, I think that is a good thing, especially now.”

He looked down momentarily. “I've been thinking about that a lot. I realize that perhaps I've placed more importance on it – I mean our not being able to share one another’s thoughts - than perhaps it deserves. I have been thinking of it from one perspective only and my view is skewed by the love I have for you. Now that we’re taking time and examining things from a distance, I can see you are looking at ...us...from a different vantage point as much as I am." 

I ran my hand over his hair and down his back. “Of course ’Us’ is important.” I said and felt him lean into me as naturally as he ever had. 

“I do understand that what has happened between us did not occur in a vacuum, you know.”

“Yes, but I was a jerk.” I let out a sigh into a muffled bit of self-amusement and pulled him over against my chest. “Right?”

“Oh, I won’t even try to argue that point.” He reached with one hand and caressed my cheek. 

“I do try to excel at everything - even that I guess. Do you know that sometimes I've wished that we didn't have all of eternity. When faced with infinity, how can I make promises to behave and not hurt you? Sometimes I wish we could simply be two old geezers together Louis, you with your moth eaten sweaters they so famously write you in and me, well, I'd probably be the eccentric old queer decked out in velvet until the end.”

“Not in this weather,” he nodded toward the humidity haloing the streetlights. “Here's a thought - let's leave the promises for now and work on how we can better understand each other. Perhaps we need to break now and then? Like you said, eternity and all that you know? However I would much prefer that you didn't run off and make a fledgling every time my back is turned if you don't mind.” He sat up again and instantly I missed the weight of his body.

“Louis you,more than anyone, you know that I have what seems to be cyclical boredom that leads to my seeking out stimulation and inevitably results in hurting the one soul I love most. How do you think we can deconstruct that behavior to the point that I can recognize it and not ignore it, but manage it?” I exaggerated my exhalation, surprised at the bit of self-analysis and it occurred to me that were he not by all appearances violently opposed to them as a whole, Louis’ traits would make him a good psychiatrist. “...and for the record, I didn't make a fledgling this time.”

“You came a damn sight close, wouldn’t you say? It may be even harder for me than if you had been the one to do it. We've been over all that and I say it now only because avoidance doesn't seem to be working.” He stood up and pulled me to my feet as well. “I don't know if we can deconstruct the behavior as much as we should instead make some significant changes in how we deal with each other - and I mean both of us, not just you. Your behavior must be predicated on something, after all. Come on, walk me back to the house.”

I took his hand in mine and felt thankful that he hadn’t used the word ‘home’, although if he had I might have led him directly to the townhouse. This was the bittersweet moment that came when our meetings came to an end. I had to tell myself that unlike the geezers we’d never be, Louis and I had an abundance of time to sort out our issues and truly be at home in one another’s presence, beyond simply residing together. We walked together in silence as I thought of what he’d said. “You know Louis, I create crises for myself. I think I thrive on them. It gives me something to solve, something to triumph over.” He said nothing and I continued to examine it aloud. "I wonder, is it ego? That's part of it. I can't deny craving recognition, attention, and yes you give it to me, but maybe after a while our familiarity makes the spotlight feel dimmer somehow.” I stopped under the low boughs of an oak and when he paused alongside me I brought his hand to my lips and kissed the palm slowly. “I don't say that to injure you - I'm merely speculating.” God, but he was so painfully beautiful.

“You create crises – as if there haven’t been enough real crises in our world.” He shook his head as if to ask what on earth he would do with me. I had plenty of ideas about what he could do with me, but I simply leaned close and kissed him tentatively. He yielded easily to it and for several minutes we were lost in one another. When he stepped back, I could almost hear the yearning we shared. “Louis,” I said as I turned to walk on, “Speaking of crises, I’ve been meaning to ask you whether you may have sensed any untoward energy around? You know, disturbance in the force, so to speak? 

“Disturbance? Not so much. I felt as though someone was...watching. Another vampire perhaps, though I never did come across anything concrete. Maybe a week or so ago? It was strange only in that I am usually quite sure when one of them gets too close. This time it was different. Why? Is there something I should know about?”

‘I'm not sure. It’s probably nothing. Ah you know, I wanted to tell you, I spoke to David and told him I knew all about the Petronia business. Much to his surprise and yours too I'm sure, I didn't explode about it at all.”

"You did not seem too angered when I told you, come to think of it. I will admit to some trepidation at having to tell you, but he'd had time enough to let you know. Holding things back from each other has not proved to be healthy.”

“I would say we’re striving to overcome that, yes. Aside from that fact, David has more pressing things to attend, and frankly so do I. I don't even care to delve into all that - I just informed him that his precious dark child was actually staying nearby and more than that, told him I had the distinct misfortune of running into him one night right here in the Quarter.” This time it was Louis who stopped along the sidewalk and I turned to face him. “So you can imagine, dropping that little tidbit on him was for me, much more rewarding than demanding answers about his actions.”

We resumed our easy pace and again our hands entwined. “You are wicked. I'll tell you now, when he dropped that bomb on me in Rome, I could hardly believe it. I had no idea. Obviously, you knew--he said as much. He was quite distraught when he finally told me his secret.”

“I can imagine. Now however, he has that bone to chew on and I'll let you know something else - I told him that for some time to come, he and I were going our separate ways. I’ve heard sometimes that's necessary.”

“This is an evening of surprises, isn’t it?”

“I like to keep you guessing, beautiful,” I said. We had reached the edge of the park and it was there we would part. I hadn’t been to the house since the night I’d put Brian into his bed to sleep off the drink and while I didn’t speak of it to Louis, I think he understood that even on that brief visit I’d been able to perceive where they’d lain together intimately and shared what I wanted all for myself. As such, when I had suggested meeting elsewhere, it was not questioned, nor was the fact that he would leave me here. I stepped into the invitation of his open arms and the need for him was again painfully awoken. He kissed my cheek in the way only he does, lingering and moving to just in front of my ear as he whispered. “You needn't worry on that score Lestat. You have always managed that quite well.” 

He held me close and for seconds we merely breathed in the scent of one another. The way he said my name, drawn out and distinctly accented, made me shiver. Not for the first time I said to myself it was a very good thing he couldn’t read my thoughts because I didn’t want him to feel the torment he stirred in every fiber of my being. It was more than a physical yearning - every label I tried to place upon the feelings fell short of capturing the depth and intensity. What I knew was that I could not stand here and deny the need of it or I would become sullen and spiteful – and neither of us wanted that to manifest. I stepped back, praying for that unnameable circuit to be temporarily cut. “Yes, but mm, you know, I'm trying to get better about it though.” Look at me, I was stammering as I waited for my head to clear. “You just need to figure out - we need to figure out better ways to tame the lion eh?"

He stepped back as well, maybe wishing similarly to break the effect I had upon him which I hoped was equally as tormenting. “Not so much tame as anticipate and perhaps match the guessing affect?”

“Whatever gets you back to me.” I said simply as I trailed my hand down his chest. “I love you Louis.”

“I know you do, and I love you too.” He kissed my cheek briefly to spare us each that connection once more, and then he walked off toward the place he called home - without me.

**~~~~~**

**Le Balcon**

**(Louis) ******

I thumbed the close call button and slid the phone into my pocket. The kitchen was dark; when Brian was not at home I didn't bother with lights for the most part. He was out with 'Tee Georgie and his sister, gone to listen to Kermit Ruffins. I'd declined the invitation to tag along because in truth I had been thinking of Lestat, of our talk in the park. Thinking about the possibilities before us as I had not allowed myself to for the past year or so.

I'd said to him that things really felt different this time and though some part of me was not nearly ready to fully trust his motives, neither did I feel the manipulation that he had not been above using more often than I cared to remember. He was different--sobered somewhat, but in a way that I thought I could get used to. Not that his sense of fun had been subsumed; far from it. it was just that he was thinking more about what had happened. He was thinking ahead, thinking about more than immediate gratification and that was entirely unlike him; he has always been a creature entirely in the moment, a thing I both loved and suffered.

It was another sultry night, the sort of night I truly loved. I love the heat; I think I did even when I was mortal--the enveloping feel of it, the way it draws sweat from your skin, the way it slows you to langorous contemplation. The heat here is like a live thing, at once demanding and nurturing. And what on earth was I doing standing here in the dark when he was waiting for me, my beautiful Lestat, Did he know how I missed his touch, his mouth crushed to mine? 

I decided I would forgo the streetcar and drive over to the Quarter. The traffic was light for a change so I arrived more quickly than I’d anticipated and since further anticipation seemed very much in order, I parked in the Jax lot and took my time walking among the evening crowd on Decatur Street and enjoying the warm breeze coming from across the river. Once I turned onto Royal, the breeze abandoned me. The air in the narrow street was easily ten degrees warmer, enveloping me in a completely sensual and familiar way.  


As I drew near the townhouse, I heard a compelling melody being played on a piano and knew immediately that it was Lestat. No one else that has his particular touch and his unique manner of blending different eras into a unified whole. He may not have started as a musician, learning by mimicry as we are able to do, but he is far past mere mimicry now, having found a strong form of expression in composition. I heard quite a lot in the moments I stood listening. Somber melancholy and yearning with rumblings of impatience. Sighs and whispers turned into music, and under it all I heard him, his essential essence, _lestatlestatlestat_ , his emotions and his powerful personality a counterpoint to how he was currently feeling. My heart ached, yet it also rose because I knew he was talking to me even if he didn't yet realize I was near.

A moment later and I’d leapt from the ground to balance lightly on the railing of the narrow balcony outside the office, perched for a second or so like a wary bird. No one had noticed and in another movement, I’d swung over to the balcony outside the parlor of the townhouse where he had spent so much time together, careful of the potted plants now in full, exuberant growth. The balcony itself was a secret shadowy place, filled with green life and impossibly lovely scent. The music from within came to stop not abruptly, but with a light, expectant arpeggio. Lestat realized I was here, just outside the door.

It was a breathless moment, the kind of feeling only he is able to bring out in me. Describing it is problematic, for the feelings are complex and sometimes at odds with each other; even now I felt the an urge to flee. Much stronger was the urge to go to him, be enveloped in his arms and to let everything else fall away. Madness. He’s always brought out more than a little of that in me. I took a breath, steeling my will somewhat. 

He stepped into sight, framed by the French doors and painted with the warm light of the lamps in the parlor. He wore cool white linen, crisp and fitted perfectly to his body. His feet were bare, a detail which produces in me a dissolving feeling of lust. Lestat has beautiful feet, have I ever mentioned that? Something about his immaculate clothing and the sight of his bare feet always did that to me and I know he knows it. 

“It’s not like you to make this sort of entrance, Louis,” he said with a delighted smile.

I returned it. “Your music drew me. You are working on something new?” 

He tilted his head slightly and his smile turned inward. “Just playing while I waited for you. I didn’t know how long you’d be.”

I stepped into the pool of light and he drew me forward into a warm embrace. Before I could think about it, I kissed him behind the ear and moved back slightly so I could look into his face. “So. You said something about a movie?” I said as he released me. 

“I did, didn’t I? Would you mind much if we changed course? I’m certain a movie won’t hold much interest with you sitting beside me."

I smiled at his honesty. “What then? Surely I am not here to have a look at your etchings.”

He snorted laughter and I was glad to see it because it was far from the dark laughter that overtakes him at times. “Dirty peectures, Monsiuer, eh? Feeg feeg? I have zem, ah oui. ohnly ze best prices for you.” he said in an atrocious pseudo-French accent.

It was my turn to laugh. “What a dreadful accent! Wherever did you learn it?”

He shrugged and put an arm about my shoulders, steering me back out to the balcony. “Some movie, probably,” he said comfortably. “You wouldn’t mind joining me on the chaise?” He meant the one we’d bought some time back, wide enough to easily accommodate two. In answer, I settled down and welcomed him beside me.

“Why is some of this so simple and some of it so complicated?” I asked him. He’d slid down a bit and so my arm was behind his neck rather than his back. He laid his head against my shoulder.

“It’s always been like that for us, hasn’t it?” he said. A rhetorical question, because he was correct, it’s been complicated. Some of it, anyway. The attraction had never been and neither had the connection.

“Devil’s in the details,” I agreed. I felt the steady thrum of his heart beneath my hand and noted his shirt had ridden up a little, revealing his flat belly, the shallow well of his navel and the shadowed concave to the side of his hipbone. I resisted the urge to lick my lips but did not turn my eyes from his unknowing gift. He shifted slightly and I felt the hardness of his teeth beneath his lips against my collarbone. Speak of the devil, I thought with a sort of frenetic hilarity. Does he know what he’s doing? Does he? It didn’t appear so—his body was relaxed and pliant against mine with only a little of the corded tension in his muscles that I associated with physical arousal on his part. He hummed softly, a little bit of what he’d been playing earlier and I felt myself calm by slow degrees. After a while he spoke. 

“You are volatile this evening, my Louis. Did you think I would not notice?” His low throated chuckle sent a shiver through me.

“Your fault entirely. Notice, however, that I managed to keep myself under control.” I said lightly.

“Hmm. Yes, well, you have always been one for the slow build.” He turned his head up and looked into my eyes.

“You know me so well, _mon lion_.” 

“I like to think so. I know, for instance that you are becoming uncomfortable at the turn in conversation. I know that trust takes a long while to rebuild.” He ran his thumb lovingly across my lip. “My beloved, there is always a bit of play in our seduction - that's what makes it divine and leaves us wanting more. This now... this is different we know. There is that need, yes and it never fades, does it? That's the pain. It exists for you... it exists for me. Oxygen... spark, spark, oxygen. Two parts to one flame, _non_? It would be easy enough to say we're both ready for ignition, but I know Louis, ah, I know... more time is needed - for both of us and so though we suffer for the inevitable, I am willing to forgo the immediate.”

Turning on his side to face me, he moved up a little and slid his arm beneath me and around my waist. He looked up, probably at the candle guttering in the lantern hanging above us and in that moment the contentment I was feeling drained away in a sudden, unpleasant rush and I struggled out of his grasp, standing so quickly the chaise with Lestat still on it was bunted a few feet away when it connected with my knee. He looked up at me, the beginnings of laughter on his face but when he caught my expression, the smile disappeared, replaced with concern and not a little wariness.

He asked me what was wrong but I didn’t answer him right away. To be perfectly honest, I was taken aback by the violence of my reaction. It was his posture, you see, the way in which he’d clasped me to him and turned his head up. Over our long history together. I have seen him in many attitudes. I have seen his body bent in unnatural positions that make it perfectly clear that he is not human. He has twined himself around me unnumbered times; he leapt from rooftop to rooftop with me alongside in cities all over the world. He has clasped me the way he just did before, too, but it has been some time. The last time I saw Lestat in such a pose, I’d been on the rooftop of Tristan’s apartment in Rome, brushing his then-mortal mind in curiosity and truthfully, in a fit of pique. I did so just in time to be greeted with a vision of Lestat holding him in just that way and rising with him to the ceiling of Saint Ignatius to show him the beauty of the paintings there.

I was furious at the intrusion even if it was my own memory that predicated it, furious because I wanted to leave it behind; I wanted the contentment of moments earlier back again. I wanted to just forget it happened. Lestat rose, reaching for me as I turned. I shrugged him off and went to the door. “There’s something we need to talk about.” I said. “I’ve been putting it off because I don’t want to talk about it at all, but I suppose if we don’t I will keep stumbling across it and I don’t much care for the feelings it brings up in me.” I locked eyes with Lestat, standing in the doorway with the hot wind stirring his hair. “The feeling’s _he_ brings up in me, I should say.”

He took a breath. “Tristan.” 

“Just so. Tristan.” I kept the venom from my voice, surprised at myself yet again. How can I explain it? Lestat had given that boy a piece of himself and like a child I didn’t want to share him. Couplings with others had never roused much ire in me. I don’t love that he chooses to do so, but I cannot say that when it’s happened that it has enraged me in the way that this recent deception had. I am more vexed at the idea that he feels the obvious need to get away from me periodically and lately very often.

For a long while, I‘d barely been able to keep my anger in check; that had abated somewhat when Brian, in his quiet way, had persuaded me to come away with him to the cold north. He’d been driven by concern that bordered on alarm and what sprung up between us after was not what Lestat or anyone else probably thinks. There were elements of the physical to be sure, but such gratification was more for his sake: he is a mortal man after all and a healthy one at that. I gave him pleasure and release and in return I gained back some semblance of control and the comfort of his warm, good-natured personality and the vulnerable way in which he freely offered his blood. 

I sat down in the wing chair beside the small fireplace and out of long habit, Lestat sat in the twin chair, separated from me by the ornate gaming table that has always been there. “I have come to understand being drawn to mortals much better since you left me,” I began, “That specific brand of intensity is intoxicating. To take their blood when it is freely given and to see them lie beside you, trusting that you will not give in to a lust they can only dimly understand. I have my doubts about even that much understanding, because it’s so easy for us to dazzle them, to bend their wills to ours, to let them feel things they have never felt before and see things in a light that they did not know existed. I did not condemn or judge you for the many things you have done over the years with or without my tacit agreement, even if you went about them with little thought to me or to anyone else, yourself included."

I was gratified to see that he was attending not only to my words but with what he was able sense about what was behind them. If he wanted to speak, he did not show it; he remained still, his face showing only a sort of concentrated intensity. “I cannot deny that allure and if I can feel it, I have no doubt that you are likely drawn to it tenfold. We are very different creatures in many ways, you and I. Do not think I haven’t noticed significant differences this time, both in this aftermath and in what came before it. You loved him. You told me that straight out and I am grateful at least for your honesty. What happened, however--that was precipitous and even horrifying, even for you. Please do not get the idea that I have much left in the way of sympathy toward Tristan; he is no longer human and though he may be vulnerable, it’s not at all the same thing."

I sat still for a space of minutes and Lestat mirrored this, remaining quiet and intent, giving me time to think of what I wanted to say. “I will not ask you what drives you to such sudden and indifferent cruelties to those you say you love. This is part of what we are trying to address. We may never know the answers, perhaps because no one has yet plumbed the mysteries of the human mind, much less the minds of such as we. Perhaps it’s the enormous span of time before us. I don’t know the answers and it’s not part of my nature to worry overmuch about things that are beyond my control and beyond my own understanding. The only sense I am able to make of any of it is that you found me and brought me to you. That I love you beyond reason and what I want for you is your happiness, your contentment. I would give you up if I thought you had found it in some manner without me. I don’t think you have thus far. Why, then, do you run from me when you know I would support you, even to my own detriment if only you would trust me enough to say the truth to me?”

Next


	9. Après - Esplanade - Confessional

 

**Après**

**(Lestat)**

I nodded but said nothing for a few seconds. “You’re right. I don’t usually calculate the gravity of the situation from another’s point of view and look where that leads. I wish I could promise you with one-hundred percent certainty that I’ll change that behavior. You see, this is the problem for me when we talk this way; I feel like anything I say is something you’ve heard from me time and time again.”

He shifted slightly while considering the statement. “That may be true, but you don’t need to repeat these things; nothing is certain, is it? I am as aware of your regrets as I am of my own. No less do I feel that this is a conversation we need to have, and while your behaviors are certainly a consideration, we began this discussion with your feelings for Tristan.”

“I know. I just want you to understand that I get just as frustrated with myself as you do.”

“I believe you.” he conceded with a warm smile. “But back to the subject?”

“When he and Daniel came here,” I paused for the memory of them, of him as he’d walked toward me. His transformation had taken my breath away then and to recollect it now did much the same. “I wasn’t at all sure how it would go – to be truthful, I expected a lot more Italian theatrics you know, throwing things while spewing old-world obscenities – but there was none of that. There was so much more than the physical transformation in him that I was really quite taken aback. I expected him to be that way, either raging with resentment or perhaps be the complete opposite and try to seduce me, but honestly, he was somewhere in between those extremes. Of course by then, I had enough distance from it all to have better objectivity myself.”

“Mm.” Louis merely nodded.

“I wish you could have been there that night, the proverbial fly on the wall you know. I know what you’re thinking but if you had been, you might have been surprised.”

“You said you didn’t want to give me excuses, so don’t.” He got up and I sensed that I’d disappointed him. “Perhaps we need to wait a little longer than I thought to have this discussion.” His voice had cooled perceptibly.

“Louis wait, don’t go.” I stepped in front of him and he paused. “I am trying to be forthcoming here. Tristan quite justifiably doesn’t want to have anything to do with me right now - but you’ve asked whether I am ‘in love’ with him and I have answered you that I am not. I do feel love _for_ him and that I will continue to feel for him that way. I will be there should trouble come his way in this life, but you are asking whether such liaisons between he and I will happen again and I can stand before you now and tell you that the love I feel for him no longer extends in such a way. I don’t know what more I can say or do to make the point. You say that physical dalliance isn’t what bothers you when it comes to Tristan or anyone else, but the dishonesty and the callousness when it comes to your emotions – and I’m trying here. Can I promise I’ll never break your heart or try your patience again? No – I wish I could, but when it comes to loving you…”

“I know you love me – that has never been a question in my mind,” he said solemnly. He looked off over my shoulder.

“I do love you; No matter how many others steer me off course, you Louis, are my home. You are the beacon to which I return and darling, no, I don’t mean at all that I take for granted you’ll be here waiting … or maybe I did before, but I shouldn’t have, I know, and I’m sorry.”

He stared at me, his eyes intent and his expression devastatingly fierce. "The difference is that for me, you are the harbor I never wish to leave." He moved as though to leave but then stopped and turned back, stepping toward me. His green eyes, so sharp a moment ago had softened somewhat and he pressed a kiss to my jaw, “We’re not done with this, Lestat." He held my face in his two hands and brushed my lips with his. "Not done." And then he was gone, vanishing with that eerie vampire speed that he has come to use more and more of late.

***********

Over the next few nights after his abrupt departure, the townhouse seemed unbearably quiet. Of course it was no different than it had been before, but perhaps it was the loudness of my thoughts along with his absence that made it difficult for me. Though I have tried and actually succeeded with meditation and various techniques as such, I find that since Louis initiated our separation I was as restless as ever and since our conversation about Tristan, there was added agitation. I’d tried to call him but his cell went unanswered. I called Brian and he told me that Louis had been gone for two nights and that no, he did not know his whereabouts. I felt foolish making such a call, as though I were asking if Louis could come out to play. I did miss our playtime though; I missed it so much that it too added to my general anxiety. So what did I do to quell the tide? I slept, I drove, I cranked up the music while I was home, I watched television… and I hunted. In all these things, the pleasure was diminished. What I wanted was my beloved, home and in my arms. I wanted the separation to end and when I thought that in immortal terms we had been separated for a nanosecond, I again felt foolish and anxious for my selfishness.

When I wasn’t able to reach him on the third night, I consoled myself with some quiet French music as I sat on the floor of our room and delved into a cache of sentimental objects I kept in a tattered box. Louis had a similar treasure trove and while we knew of one another’s collections we respected them as sacrosanct. We kept the letters and funny little notes exchanged over the years along with anything from necklaces to shells collected on any of the moonlit beaches we’d strolled together. Into this box, I had placed his wedding ring which he had removed the night he came to collect the last of his essentials to take with him to the house he now shared with Brian. I picked it up and held it to my lips with my eyes closed, sensing his energy upon it still and inevitably, recalling the night I’d placed it upon his finger.

The words he’d spoken that night echoed in my mind; he’d quoted from Shakespeare.

_Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments, Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds or bends with the remover to remove, O no! It is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken._

__But our love had sorely been shaken and found alteration – all of my creation. I could count the number of times Louis had hurt me on one hand, hell, on three fingers if I really tried;: Setting fire to me notwithstanding, denying me his help when I felt I needed it most notwithstanding, overall, Louis was a veritable saint compared to me. This truth brought a little smile to my lips. I was the one always going on about such things, and the irony lay in how very far I was from such status while my beloved was much more deserving of the honor._ _

__“You are the harbor I never wish to leave.” He had said in our last meeting… and yet he had left me – had moved out of our shared residence in fact and how could I blame him? I thought of how very happy he’d been in the nights before our ceremony – I honestly have never seen his heart more full of contentment. I said to him and everyone else that I wanted to show and to really live the promise that there was no one above him in my life and yet shortly thereafter, I was the one who departed. I had been once more overcome by that restlessness and need for something more… and yet why?_ _

__I shook my head. Was Louis not enough for me? I loved him to be sure… but would that ever be enough, or would I once again reform my callous and wandering heart for as long a time as it took to secure his trust, then once more blow it to pieces? That I could even formulate such a question disgusted me. How could he not be enough?_ _

__I could not attend the question – it was too much and for it I had no answers. Instead, I reviewed the conversation we’d had about Tristan but even that came back to the same bottom line. _“I love you beyond reason and what I want for you is your happiness, your contentment. I would give you up if I thought you had found it in some manner without me. I don’t think you have thus far. Why, then, do you run from me when you know I would support you, even to my own detriment if only you would trust me enough to say the truth?”_ He’d said, and as I’d listened. I had no answers for his questions any more than my own. In all the times I’d strayed from him, had I found contentment? Certainly when I’d been with Tristan, there had been happy, even near blissful moments – but lasting contentment? I had to be honest and admit that from the outset, I’d never once thought I’d find such a thing with him but then the overall problem was not thinking, wasn’t it?_ _

__Louis had asked me if I was still in love with Tristan and there should be no need for the distinction of ‘love’ and being ‘in love’ with a person. I wasn’t still in love with Tristan and here tonight I questioned whether I ever really had been in love or whether that terminology held merit for anyone, mortal or otherwise. Isn’t that feeling of being ‘in love’ simply a deeper fascination or infatuation usually made worse by hormones or in the case of vampires, whatever similar craziness we have in our systems?_ _

__Sobering as I sat there, I felt depression peeking at me from the corner of the room. Maybe I didn’t know what love really meant or how it felt – but no, Mister Depression, that’s not the case at all. When I think about Louis… when as now, he is away from my side as morning settles into the sky and I close my eyes, the longing I feel for him coupled with an abiding sense of knowing that no matter what comes and goes between us … he is The One, that is love. I know he feels the same as daylight forces him into slumber, and that is love. When I look up and realize he’s been watching me with wonder and appreciation that hasn’t diminished in two hundred years - that is love. When he sleeps next to me and I wake before him and trace my fingers along his spine and breathe in the miracle of our life together - that is love._ _

__My thoughts were broken as I felt and heard something fall upon the loose sheaves of letters and I realized the red splotch had come from my own eyes. I wiped my face absently and picked up the paper to wipe it clean. As I unfolded the handmade paper, I knew it was one of several poems I’d written down in full calligraphic style because they reminded me of that love. I smeared the bit of blood with my thumb, and it penetrated the space beneath the wickedly black ink. I stared at it for several minutes and then in relation to the poem, took it to be a sigil though I could not quite reconcile the feeling of discomfort it produced. I pushed it aside, and just when I thought my melancholy had lessened, there was one of the more precious and recent items: A ribbon of grosgrain and suede that had held Louis’ hair while we vacationed on Mustique._ _

__I recalled the night well: I’d gone into the center of town and procured a horse and we’d ridden up and down the beach before giving the mare a rest while we splashed and kissed one another in the moonlit ocean. When we returned the steed to her stables, we’d gone to a café and talked about everything and nothing at all as we’re prone to do in our better times together. When we reached the secluded beach villa as morning approached, he’d come to me on the balcony that overlooked the ocean. Several stands of his hair had come loose from the tether. It was one of many instances where I wished I could paint his portrait for everyone in the world to see; Louis looking off over the violet-tinged waters as the gentle breeze played in his hair. I had gone beside him and untied the ribbon and it remained in my hand as I breathed in the salt-kissed curve of his neck. He had leaned back against me and we stood there that way until the light drove us to find the shelter of our bed._ _

__Had I painted that scene, I could sell it for a million dollars but I think I would keep it for just such a night as this when I sat most deservingly alone with only the company of such memories. I would probably resort to speaking aloud to portrait-Louis and then getting irritated when in response I heard nothing. Yes, I could see that particular sort of humorous madness quite easily. I tried to smile at the thought, but in truth I was anything but amused. I was tired and heartbroken. I felt such self-loathing for the repeated violations against his magnificent heart that I wanted to hide myself from him, for truly I did not trust that I would not again utter proclamations of devotion and regret and then break him all over again. He could not endure it, and a great knowing settled in my soul that we could not endure it as a couple. We may have eternity, but that fact doesn’t mean we have to spend it together in repetitive insanity. Perhaps it would be for the best if we kept a distance between us or if we separated indefinitely to prevent what seemed inevitable._ _

__Dear God how I missed him._ _

__I tucked all but one thing back into the box, pushed it back into its hiding place and got up from the floor. I walked over to the window and wondered where he was at the very same moment. How many times over the years had I stood at a window in this townhouse and looked out into the night with thoughts of him playing in my mind?_ _

 

 

**~~~~~**

**Confessional**

**(Lestat)**

The insistent ring of my cell phone woke me and I fumbled for where I’d laid it on the bed. I sat halfway up and shook my muddled head. I’d been dreaming of far-away places: Egypt and Carthage, where a presence stirred in the treetops. To find that I was home in my own bed was disorienting. The phone, yes: It was Louis, finally.

“Hello my love,” I said and lay my head back onto the pillow.

“Hello darling.” His voice was rolling gentleness in my ears. “Brian said you’d called him – I’m sorry I didn’t get back with you sooner. Is anything wrong?”

“Nothing wrong.” I said softly. “Sorry, I’m not wide awake here. Can you come pick me up in a while?”

“Of course. Where are we going?”

“I just want to continue our conversation.” I sat up onto the edge of the bed wrestling the phone between my shoulder and ear. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

“Ah. Should I be concerned?” He laughed softly and it made my heart swell to picture the look on his face. “Thinking can be dangerous for you.”

“Don’t be concerned. I’ll see you in what, half an hour?”

“I’ll see you then, _cher_.”

 

*********************

When he pulled up in the Infiniti, I walked over to the driver’s side and he rolled down the window.

“Let me drive.”

“Why?” He raised his eyebrows. “Are you abducting me?”

“Maybe. Would you resist me if I tried it? You don’t drive this car the way it’s meant to be driven. Come on, scoot over.” I opened his door impatiently and he scowled before maneuvering himself over the center console.

“If you wanted to drive, you should have picked _me_ up, shouldn’t you? Really Lestat, you are impossible,” he said with a sigh.

“So I’ve been told many times,” I said as I readjusted the seat. I pulled out onto the street and steered us toward the freeway. “You drive this car like it belongs to an old man.” I pushed the accelerator and looked over at him as the engine purred to life.

“We are old men in a manner of speaking.” He smiled in spite of his irritation. “Anyway, the fact that I do drive it respectfully is why I’ve had it so long.”

“I don’t burn through cars if that’s what you’re insinuating. The Mercedes is almost five years old.”

“Mm hm.” He said and looked out the window. “So where are you taking me?”

“Nowhere in particular – I just want to drive for a while, then we’ll go talk. How does that sound? I was having the strangest dreams before you called.”

“You sleep too much.”

“Yes dear, I know.” I reached over and squeezed his hand. I headed west out of New Orleans proper toward Houston with the thought that I might drive all the way there, but in truth I simply wanted to clear my head a little before delving into the matters that had plagued my conscious since he’d left the townhouse nights before. I turned up the stereo to my preferred driving level – which meant strap in, shut up and listen. The Who’s _Eminence Front_ took us away under the amber roadside lamps and Louis rolled down the windows.

Driving for me was an immersive experience: I was the pilot, and the road was limitless. I had no patience for rules or signs and while that sometimes led to perilous disruptions in the overall enjoyment, it’s not like I was going to die – and hey I hadn’t wrecked anything since the night I made a modern art sculpture out of a Maserati and a guardrail, and that was a crying shame. But that was a horse that was too big for the barn so to speak – it belonged wild and free on endless roads or the Autobahn, and while I’d mourned its passing, I was soon in love with the Mercedes. That was my nature of course, fickle and too casual at times for my own good. It was that very fact that had Louis and me once again in the predicament of being at odds with one another and living separately. A few nights ago he’d asked me a question that surely he’d spoken on other occasions, but perhaps the way he phrased it this time broke through some barrier. I’d turned over his question in my mind and in turn there came a poignantly accurate answer.

I pulled off into a secluded rest area and turned to him. “Ah, I needed that. Your hair is a mess.”

“I wonder how that could have happened?” He rolled his beautiful eyes. “Can I drive home now?”

“No.” I said and claimed the shifter with my hand. “We’re not going home anyway.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

“I’m just unsettled. We’re going to take care of that.”

“Here?” He asked looking out toward the dark and seemingly abandoned roadside bathrooms.

“No, Louis, I’m not suggesting that – though if you’re up for it hey…” He looked faintly mortified. “Relax, precious.” I laughed and pulled out onto the highway headed back east.

“Lestat…” His voice held soft inquiry and I’d turned down the music enough to hold a conversation. “I have to say you’re behaving erratically. That can only mean one thing – something’s making you nervous.”

I nodded. “In a way yes; I just have a lot on my mind.” I turned off the highway without further explanation and soon enough pulled up in front of the house on Esplanade.

He looked up at the restored façade then to me. “What are we doing here?”

“It factors in to what I want to talk about with you.” I said as I got out of the car and went around to his side. I opened his door and as he stepped onto the curb I could tell his guard was already up. It wasn’t that he didn’t like surprises, but as he’d said, I was somewhat erratic and that understandably set him on edge. “The production crew is on hiatus,” I said with a shake of my head. “At least that’s the official term. From what I understand their current actress can’t much tolerate the heat because she’s so used to the snow.” I sniffed and mimicked inhaling a line of said nicknamed powder. “There are a few legal issues too, but when I talked to Terry Pom – that’s his name right? Pom? Or is it Palm? – I tuned out after he said the house was sitting empty for the next few weeks.”

“It’s Palm with an 'L',” he said.

“Mm, yes. Like the tree. I’ll make a note of it.” I nodded. “Well come on.” I reached for his hand and led him around back. There were keys left in very well-concealed boxes, and we let ourselves into the courtyard.

He stood still in the middle of the manicured square. The topiaries and fountain remained in place since the night we’d last been here. “They haven’t changed a thing.” A slow smile lifted his features and brought new light to his eyes. I walked up and nestled against him from behind to let my head rest against his back. I inhaled slowly, taking in all of him – the scent of spice and cabernet from the cologne that lingered on his skin, the smell of the newspaper that clung to his fingertips, and certainly not to be overlooked was the ever-present, dizzying scent of his blood as it called to me. He turned in my arms and pulled me close. I was overcome with a wave of sadness and leaned onto his chest. It was one of many moments I wished would freeze and forever remain – and it like all the rest would do just that in my mind.

“Lestat?” He broke the tumult of my thoughts and past the timbre of his voice I heard a not-too-distant clap of thunder. “Did you want to go inside?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Lightning affirmed that choice and we stepped under the portico and into the front parlor. Within minutes, fat raindrops began to fall and the wind picked up behind us. “Ah well, what good timing we have.”

“Once in a while.” His voice was quiet as he looked around. “They really haven’t made a lot of changes in here either – though I suppose they’re here more for function than form.”

“Louis, you’re not disguising your discomfort well.”

“You don’t often summon me to talk about something specific, let alone go for a random drive before settling on a rather obvious location.”

“Yes.” I walked again to stand behind him and we caught our reflection in a cheval mirror. “Look at how perfect we are my love. What do you think of when you see us?”

“Here in this place? Our wedding night of course.” He leaned his head back against me. “Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks. Within his bending sickle's compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom,’” he recited in a soft voice as he swayed slowly in my arms.

I swallowed and felt my eyes dampen. Against him I must have bristled, for he once more turned to face me. The memory of our perfect night had softened his body and he might have kissed me if not for my expression. “Did I say something wrong?” He pulled away and backed up.

“Not wrong exactly,” I too stepped back and sank down on the velvet settee that ringed one of the side columns. “The Shakespeare.”

“Yes? Lestat, now you are worrying me.” He came and sank down in front of me.

I leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “Not to worry, _mon ange_. It throws me some when you’re able to get inside my head without knowing it. You see, the lines you spoke to me from that night are quite important to what I want to say. I hope you’ll let me speak freely – I mean I know you will, but admittedly I get easily sidetracked so do be patient with me.”

“Of course.” He moved back to sit on the divan that faced me. There were two in the center of the room that they had placed back to back most stylishly. “Unburden your mind beloved. I don’t care to see you so pent up.”

“Before you left me last, you asked me a question. Do you recall?” I continued before he could answer. “You asked, if I can paraphrase, why I chose to leave you time and time again when if it was a matter of my happiness you would, even at your own expense, support me in whatever it was aside from you that called me away if it brought me contentment - that you would do just that if I trusted you enough to address it truthfully. Isn’t that what you said?”

“Pretty precisely yes, that’s what I said.” He crossed his leg against his ankle in a tell of his attentiveness.

“Now you’ve probably asked me that same thing in a dozen different ways and I promise you I’ve asked myself the same question. Why do I leave? You used the word ‘run’, maybe that was the difference, I don’t know. In all those times, I didn’t find answers. I found plenty of excuses, you know that much.” His face was calm with the barest trace of a reassuring smile. “But whether it was your phrasing or I was just ready to hear an answer, it came to me, and oh, Louis…” I shook my head as I felt the same tide of emotion that had come that night as I saw the answer come to life as a picture in my mind. “You and I … when we’re good together…” I looked at him imploring him to picture that as well as I had seen it, he and I in good times and laughter – and even in times of trouble when we’d stood together strongly, we created an unbreakable light. The vampires of our coven knew that light for what it was and they respected it as such. There was no Louis without Lestat and vice versa; I knew that even vampires outside our coven whispered of our legacy. “Louis, when we’re good together – bear with me please. The answer that came to me was that what we create becomes overwhelming… now wait, listen,” I paused when he gave me a disbelieving look. “I don’t mean in a bad way – not at all, and I know it seems to make no sense that I would be overwhelmed by the love but I have no other way to explain what was shown to me other than it was the truth you want me to speak to you. I pictured it as something beautiful and strong, but perhaps so brilliant that I just can’t hold it safely, and it falls to the ground and shatters. Only then do I look down and see it for what it was, and then do you understand when I say that I have the bittersweet joy of putting it back together again until it once again shines around us? Does that make sense?”

He said nothing for a minute – that was a distinct difference with Louis. He weighed options and words in equal measure before he spoke. Only he didn’t speak.  
“Louis?”

“I’m presuming you have more to say.” He gestured for me to continue.

I sighed heavily. “I am hopeful that you are not hearing all of this as nothing more than routine hyperbole.” His expression was still placid, though the edges of his mouth were drawn tighter. "If I can look back on the time before our ceremony and God knows how many other times when we were... when you were so happy Louis, and see the abominable destruction I threw onto that - if I can look on it and feel disgusted with myself I honestly do not understand how you can even look at me, speak to me or above all speculate that somehow I might not do it again and again. You moved out to give me space to see such a thing, and I know, to allow yourself the same perspective, but when you're with me my beloved, I can tell you're so close to giving in and I can't blame you. We both want it so badly that it's far too easy to say it won't happen again or maybe that things weren’t so bad and we are who we are. You can stand there and say to me that you're far more in control of your reactions and emotions than to do that - but are you? Isn't that what's happened between us for centuries? The truth is... this isn't all about my behavior Louis, it's about our behavior and after our talk, after realizing this in my head maybe more than I ever have before, I can't see any way to keep us from giving in to the Good then to really stay apart as we have been ... indefinitely. No, please don’t look at me that way… It's breaking my heart. I crave you in my arms. I want you by my side as I sleep…but if we're speaking in terms of the truth with one another, then the truth isn't pretty and it isn't without pain.”

I ceased speaking abruptly as he stood up, but he held his place. I could not gauge whether he figured I was nearly spent or whether he was done entertaining my tirade. I knew for sure which of the two it was: I was exhausted. “Whether you believe me or not, I love you more than any soul on the face of this earth and I’m coming to loathe the angst that seems to continually plague our relationship including that which we’ve both endured and displayed over the last few months.”

He looked at me with burning focus. “You’re leaving again, aren’t you?” His mouth was now set and firm and his overall posture indicated that only slightly below the surface, he was seething.

“You see?” I threw my hands to the side and shook my head. “That you jump to that conclusion so automatically is a prime example of what’s wrong.”

“Answer me.”

“Honestly, when I came to these realizations, the first thing I wanted to do was get the Harley out of the garage and ride until I could ride no more, and find my day sleep in some anonymous field. What would that accomplish?” He crossed his arms and drew in a measured breath as I spoke. “To answer you, I’m not leaving. As I said, I’m tired of the angst, the back and forth, and frankly, the bullshit that I seem inclined to generate. At this point I don’t know quite how to fix it or prevent it from happening, but I’m not going anywhere this time. I want to figure it out.” I sighed heavily. “I want to figure it out – with you.”

Again he simply stood there with a steeled expression. His eyes burned with anger but despite his fury I felt that he had heard me thoroughly. It wasn’t easy for me to be concise in such a moment and for that fact I’d almost forgone telling him any of my thoughts, but I figured if I buried them we would be worse off in the long run for ignoring the answer that came to me, however analogous it may be.

NEXT: Chapter Ten


	10. Release - Certainty

**Release  
(Louis)**

It was only when I’d managed to allow some small semblance of reason to percolate through the immediate, fiery anger that had roared up in me that I understood what he was trying to say. The anger was replaced with a relief and gratitude so great I felt light-headed. It was the relief I suppose, along with a sense of sheepish realization that he was entirely correct; I had fully expected him to fall back into the pattern to which I’d become accustomed. These emotions, following so close upon one another triggered a reaction that, for me at least, was entirely unexpected. I opened my mouth to speak but instead began to laugh. The humor was not generated from derision or disbelief but from an effervescence of spirit. I had been lifted from an anticipated abysmal drop to an abrupt updraft that shifted my trajectory from a plummet to dizzying flight.

I was not the only one who was taken by surprise by this reaction. Lestat’s expression darted from hurt to a dawning realization of what was behind my laughter and then what could he do but join me? We were overcome with it for some little while, unable to do little more than hang onto each other for support, fresh gales overtaking us just when it seemed the laughter would abate. Eventually we got ourselves under control, stretching out side by side on the floor.

“I am not entirely certain what brought that on, _cher_ , and I admit to being stung at such a reception to my soliloquy,” Lestat said, his fingers finding my hand and closing around it. I stole a glance and saw that he was looking up at the ceiling, his face relaxed…almost serene. “I’m not entirely certain why you were laughing at all.”

“Attribute it directly to my own foolishness and the way your words pricked a hole in my balloon of self-righteous assumption. Ah, Lestat, you always surprise me. We may have ruts in which we trap ourselves but to paraphrase your cinematic stand-in, life without you would really not be bearable.” I squeezed his hand. “Feel free to preen, if you like.” He kept his eyes trained on the ceiling, his fine mouth quirking in a smile. I continued. “You’re right. I was expecting the worst. Not hearing it took the wind out of my sails and for a minute I didn’t even know how to react. The bullshit is not yours alone, eh? I am guilty of participating in low expectations and contributing to the angst and drama. How absurd!” I snorted and felt my stomach muscles clench in anticipation of another fit of laughter. After a minute, I mastered the urge. “In spite of my steely resolve, you are correct--it was a close thing; you are most difficult to resist even at the worst of times.”

He sat up in a lazily graceful motion and clasped his legs beneath the knees with his arms. “Oh, please. Don’t stop now, Louis. Tell me more about how right I am. I so rarely hear it from you.” His incandescent smile told me there was no rancor or sarcasm behind his words; in fact it seemed to me that he was pleased regarding the turn things had taken. “And have we changed roles? That might be fun. It’s rare for you to have such a marvelous fit of laughter and I had forgotten how much I adored seeing such a release.” The wattage in his smile softened somewhat.

“We can change roles if you like, but I fear you don’t have the patience for the likes of you.”

“Probably true,” he said expansively. “If I ever encountered such a fickle, unreasonable creature, I would doubtless have killed him long ago.”

“I don’t believe that. If that creature has only a tenth of your considerable charm, he would be able to talk his way out of being murdered.” I paused and our eyes met. “You’re right. You’re right about a lot of it, at any rate. When we are…good, as you put it, the things that have gone so wrong between us are dimmed to the point of invisibility and it’s a simple thing to assume that everything will then proceed as it is at that moment. At such times that’s not unreasonable--in synch as we can be, it feels too perfect to be anything but forever, yes?”

“Exactly so,” he said warmly. His eyes betrayed him as they so often do. His thoughts are closed to me except during those all-too-brief moments when we share the ecstasy of mutual blood drinking, but his eyes have always spoken volumes. I saw relief that I had gleaned what he’d been trying to tell me. I saw regret and some worry. Most of all I saw his deep love and thought to myself it was that love which allowed me to believe I was better with him than without him and be damned to his roving eye and his wandering soul.

Some things are far beyond our control or understanding; perhaps such answers may someday be revealed or be stumbled upon but I don’t tend to wonder about the larger picture these days. If I am a damned creature, then so be it. If I am to be judged for a weakness of will then judged I shall be; I don’t pretend to understand the chemistry, the fate, the karma, the faith or whatever else a reasoning being might choose as a way to reconcile with mysteries that are impossible to understand. I count the wildly improbable sequence of events that brought Lestat and I together as one such mystery; another such mystery is that in spite of, or perhaps because of, our many differences, we mesh well and in ways that would not work for more similar personalities. It’s enough for me that it does.

****

**Certainty  
(Lestat)**

The urge to touch him was too strong to ignore; I leaned toward him and slowly caressed his cheek with the back of my hand. It was a gesture as old as our years together and as his beautiful eyes closed, the circuit between us was somehow more complete than it had been in years. On this night, I had spilled a tide of emotions born from a moment of clarity, and he had the wind pulled from his sails when that tide did not carry me away. Amazingly, we were purged and washed ashore with a new understanding. If any selfishness was present in me, it was for the fact that I did not want this very moment to end. I wanted the warmth and humor alongside the knowledge of a love that suffered but never ceased. I closed my eyes as well and whispered his name in affirmation. He curled his hand into mind and lowered it to his lap. I felt the sweet soft surprise of his lips against mine, whispering I love you, then gone again before I could demand more of them. He had of course brought everything to perfect conclusion and so with a sigh I opened my eyes and with a soft laugh, shook my head to clear my senses. “We’d better be going. You know as well as I do that this house is occupied even when the mortal inhabitants have gone.”

“You sense something?” He asked, glancing to his left as though he might suddenly be face to face with a spectre, though we both knew quite well that his talents did not lie in that direction.

“Not specifically though every time I’ve been here, there have definitely been watchers in the shadows. The night of our ceremony I actually saw one.”

“Oh? You didn’t mention we had uninvited guests.” 

We both stood up and looked around knowing that if there were any disembodied souls they’d be listening. “It was a young man who appeared to be in his twenties. I was upstairs fixing my jacket and he came through the wall beside the mirror just as if I’d called his name. He paid me no mind at all but simply floated to the other side of the room, looked out the window and dissolved into thin air.”

“Most intriguing,” he said with a smile.

His eyes did not match the interest in his voice however and I let the subject fall away. Ghosts were something of a sensitive subject for my beloved, not so much for the pain of remembering departed mortal loved ones and treacherous immortal children, but for fear of stirring them from what realms they may inhabit. A decade ago we’d been engaged in a fierce argument and characteristically, I’d thrown out many taunts unrelated to the issue at hand, many of which invoked the name of one neither of us wanted to stir into animation.

“Do you want a lift to the townhouse?” Turned toward the door he paused and inquired as I hesitated in the center of the large salon.

“I uh…” I focused for a minute on the ambiance of the house. There were no immediate spirits, but there was something. It was far away and yet familiar: A memory flashed to life and was gone before I could assimilate the context. “Yes, that would be welcome. I’ll even let you drive.”

***********

On the brief trip to the townhouse neither of us renewed the discussion of Our Relationship Status for indeed as he’d said, we had already talked it to death – bad puns aside. It had been no small thing for me to let go and spill out the weight of what conclusions I’d reached regarding how or why I seemed to allow if not indeed intentionally force things between us to go bad. I knew he understood and valued my sincerity, and though his laughter had been most unexpected as a response, it was probably the best response for the situation. He had anticipated the announcement that I was taking leave of him again, that perhaps as they used to say I needed time to “get my head together”, but hadn’t I had more than my fair share of time for that in recent years? No, I had no plans to leave Louis now or for the foreseeable future and it wasn’t simply for the fact that my recent behavior had wounded him to the point of obliging me to stay and repair the damage. If I was honest with myself, Louis’ moving out of the townhouse was the best thing he could have done because had he not, we’d have been once again in the proverbial situation of adding fuel to the fire. We would surely have ignited and bloomed into arguments that garnered the attention of neighbors and tourists, or into raging bouts of physical contact too violent to ever be termed lovemaking. Of course the latter did have some appeal however, in the long run even that was best avoided.

“I think that’s maybe the quietest you’ve been in a long while,” he said as he pulled up in front of the gates. 

I turned toward him in the seat and took his hand. “Just letting things pass through my mind you know.” I assured him as I brought his fingers to my lips. There were so many things I wanted to say in contradiction to all we’d just spoken to one another. I wanted to again ask him to come in with me, to come back to the home we should be sharing as committed lovers, to come to bed with me and help me create that magic that can and often does obliterate everything negative between us. I gave him a sad smile as I lowered his hand and opened the car door. 

“Don’t forget about the Oak Alley fundraiser in three weeks. I spoke to Alan Rofourche a few nights ago and already he was speculating on the event. They’re a pretty staid group, Alan included; he mentioned your tendency to show up in ‘the most _avante garde_ fashions’, but with all that’s been going on between us I wanted to know if you still planned on attending?”

“Alan Rofourche is a moronic weasel.” I said with an expression to match. “He wouldn’t know _avante garde_ if it …”

“…bit him on the neck?” Louis interjected. “Or were you going to suggest another location?”

“No portion of that man’s anatomy tempts me, much to his disappointment. I will say however that if you’re willing to be the _avante_ to my _garde_ or vice versa, I’m definitely up for such a display, but no chenille, right?” He laughed and shook his head. At the request of a mortal friend and fellow philanthropist, we’d attended a ‘cutting edge’ fashion show some years back where the highlight was dobby chenille clothing painfully done in a shade of pink that left us joking about grandma’s bedspread.

“No chenille darling, though as I told you back then, if anyone could pull it off it might be you.” He leaned across the center console and kissed my cheek. 

I closed my eyes for the intimacy and instantly felt that bittersweet yearning once more. “Louis,” I whispered softly as he lingered so close. 

“I love you too,” he completed my thought with his lips against my face. I straightened up and finally let myself out of the car. When I turned around and leaned back into the window, I gave him an optimistic smile. _We’re going to be all right_ , I thought in that instant, and hoped my look conveyed that emotion: In his eyes I saw that the message was both received and reciprocated. 

I watched him drive off and head back to the physical location that for now was his home without me. Still, I had to smile because we’d weathered a small storm this night that despite our separation left me feeling closer to him than I had in weeks. The pre-dawn air was thick with humidity as I stood on the banquette to watch the few mortals that passed. I couldn’t help but recall Daniel and Tristan walking down the street toward me and in doing so, I hoped that they were becoming close and overcoming what awkwardness came in those early stages between a fledgling and the one who had made him. That thought led me right back to Louis and our first years together. For as much of it that had been publicized in one form or another, there were a thousand moments known only to us. I never would have imagined that these many years later, I would be courting him – or perhaps we would be courting one another. It was a time to rediscover the nuances that drew us irrevocably back to one another and perhaps if we did it right, even more to love along the way. 

Next - Chapter Eleven


	11. Measure for Measure  -  Apology

Chapter Eleven

**~Measure for Measure~  
(Louis)**

When I reached the house, the front porch light was on, and warm lamplight emanated from the living room windows.. Brian was home,then, back from the Kerry Pub where he often spent his Thursday evenings. It was later than I’d thought, but I tended to lose track of time after such a feed as I’d taken this evening.

When I reached the top of the steps a dull gleam caught my eye, a buffed brass plate with raised letters affixed to the post that supported the porch railing: _Maison Chêne_. I had to smile – Brian is fond of the small touches that make up a whole and this was a new detail he’d added, probably earlier in the day. He’d found out when researching the house in preparation for the planned renovations, that it had been called Oak House when it had been built, and had since referred to it by the French version of the name.

I let myself in and knelt to receive my greeting from Murphy; assiduous licking of my hands and face and woofs of pleasure as I rubbed his ears in a way I knew he liked. The shower was running upstairs and I sent a quick mental greeting to let Brian know I was back and then Murphy and I went to wait for him in the in the comfortable living room. I took a few moments to pull a playlist and sat back to enjoy the diminishing effects of my recent meal, floating along on the bright notes of one of Corelli’s 12 Concerti Grossi. 

It was not a long wait; Brian joined me only a few minutes later, toweling his hair as he came down the stairs. When he sat down beside me, the heat radiating from his skin and the scent of his pulsing life beneath was altogether enticing; I was glad I’d fed so heavily. 

“I wondered if you’d be home tonight,” he said with a smile. “You’re very flushed. Still a little tipsy, hm?”

“A little.” I agreed. His matter-of-factness had been disconcerting when he’d first become comfortable enough to voice his thoughts years back. I’d come to love that tendency. “How was your evening?”

“If you mean alcohol consumption, just a pint,” he said. “The regulars were all there, even Jonesy. You would have enjoyed it.”

“I shall make it a point to stop by next Thursday.”

Brian has been with me for quite a long while, as far such relationships tend. With Lestat’s return and the strides we’d been taking toward _rapprochement_ , the more recent entanglement has lately been fading back to the natural friendship we’d built up over the past decade and a half. Brian’s unselfishness of spirit toward me was one of the more generous things I’d experienced in my long life and I had resolved to make certain that he would never think I was not grateful. 

He ran his fingers through his hair a few times and then leaned back, a companionable shoulder against mine. “You know, except for the fact that my hands don’t ache so much afterward, it struck me tonight that my playing hasn’t become virtuoso or anything.”

He meant after he would drink from me. I always encouraged him to tell me anything he noticed that might be related to this practice, now in place for quite a few years. New Orleans is something of a destination for our kind and neither Lestat or I have much in the way of tolerance for those that arrive unannounced, especially if they are unknown to us. Interlopers are given warning to move on or face the consequences. It still happens more often than I like and It was for this reason that I had begun the practice of giving Brian small drinks of my blood—marking him. While this practice is not an assurance of safety, it does serve as a warning of sorts and thus far Brian has remained mostly undisturbed. It has obviously become much more than mere marking. 

“It may be that you have not noticed. Some of that music you play is entrancingly _vivacissimo_.” 

“No, I would have noticed--I can barely keep up sometimes. It turns into a game, you know? Everyone cycling up a little faster as they play.” He turned sideways on the couch, drawing his knee up and tucking his ankle beneath his other leg. “They kid me when I drop notes to keep up.”

I smiled, drawn in by his engaging manner. “Have you noticed anything else?” I asked. 

Back when we'd started the practice, it had been Brian who first brought these changes to my attention. Brian calls it the Great Experiment, always said in a rather tongue-in-cheek manner, but it _was_ an experiment and in many respects we treated it that way. Adding his detailed notes to my own observations, we had collected a lot of information. Some of it was interesting, a little of it was astonishing, but nothing thus far had been entirely definitive. Not all of it was so clinical as the word ‘experiment’ makes it sound. A link had been forged, an intimacy that Brian has confessed is more needful to him than anything else that has passed between us. He will say so with no hesitation, but it was something I have always known. He feels pain at the loss of the more carnal pleasures we had been sharing, but it is this link that keeps that pain from turning to great despair, at least for now.

I understand why Lestat brings it up and certainly there are parallels to his own situations in this regard, yet I know that there were also just as many differences. God knows he’d had some choice words for me when I had first made the decision to separate from him.

> _"You're leaving? Ah, no, you've left already. I see then. You know that might not be a bad thing, Louis. I'm sure you came back here with the expectation - hell, you're expecting even now that I'll behave in the same old way and beg you to stay, to tell you I'll make it up to you and change for the better like I've done how many times now? You would tell me and anyone who'd listen that you don't want things to go that way, but there's some part of you that, perhaps for the routine, does want it, and you're a liar if you say differently."_
> 
> _“You assume far too much. You always have, though I suppose much of that I have brought upon myself. I haven't come to argue nor have I come with any expectations; far from it. I came to give you the courtesy of a face-to-face explanation. If I wanted things to continue as they have for so long, why then would I leave? And I don’t lie to you, Lestat.”_
> 
> _He gave a derisive snort and his eyes narrowed. “I also know you better than anyone. Assumptions come about for a reason. So far as whether Tristan has become immortal, I would say no it has not happened as of yet. Did you want a telegram when I become aware of the matter?"_
> 
> _“I would have thought you would be more interested in the outcome of the grand plan you have for your pretty new lover. I suppose I will find out through the grapevine, as they say.” ___
> 
> _“Well, I’m not interested. And let me tell you something, whether you choose to believe it or not…”_
> 
> _I interrupted him by shouldering past him again and even that very brief contact was branched lightning, scorching its way through my limbs. I could smell his blood, hear his heart and I felt a brief but debilitating weakness as he continued. “The question of whether or not I intended for any of this to happen is a moot point also. You think that when Tristan comes here - and make no mistake that he will - I'm going to be so overcome that I'll run off with him or hey, why not ask him to move in here now? But I never had that in mind, nor will I do it now. You won't believe me, so go on then and seek your consolation with Brian. Maybe you can work on figuring out why, if I'm so callous and intolerable you're only leaving me now, mon petit homme pathetique?” ___
> 
> _“You haven't been here for going on four years—why should you care who I might find some consolation with? You may call me pathetic or name me victim or anything else you like. I don’t need to work on figuring it out. Whatever skein that bound us together has completely unraveled—your utter callousness more than proves it. You will seek him out. A month a year, ten---you wanted him and you got him on your terms and as soon as the furor dies down you’ll go to him or he will come looking for you. I’m a fool for you, I freely admit that, but I am not brain dead. Who is lying now, Lestat? You could have spoken to me at any time, but you waited until, as you put it, things had gone too far. If you wish to continue throwing insults at me, why, then by all means do so.” ___
> 
> _He erupted into sneering laughter. “So, if I had called you or come home and said, ‘Oh by the way, remember Tristan? Well I've had so much sex with him and in the process given him so much of my blood that he might be suffering a bit of transubstantiation.’ You'd have been fine with that? I can't even try to insult you. The thought that you want me to believe you'd have accepted it at any point is an insult in itself!”_
> 
> _I began to feel anger again and I welcomed it; anything was better than the despairing weakness that had begun to overtake me. “You could have told me the truth without the sarcasm. Would I have accepted it? Not willingly, but come now…it was not as though I had any sort of choice in the matter. You wanted him and you set about owning him. I saw his mind and I can't think that you had no idea at all what was happening to him. I also saw you showing him specific vampire...tactics, I suppose you could say. In that lovely church. You lie to yourself, you lie to me. I am taking your oft given advice and moving on with my life. Having a fling, however you wish to name it.”_
> 
> _“I'm sure Brian is overjoyed. Maybe you could put him in the same predicament.”_
> 
> _I glared at him. “Maybe I will."_
> 
> _"You're amusing in your own right Louis, you really are. You know, it probably is a very good thing you can't read my thoughts.”_
> 
> _I stared at him unbelievingly. “You would say that next, of course. Lash out at me in the worst way using what I have said to you in intimacy and with love to flay me now. Do you even know what you want? Or is it whatever or whomever you don't have at any given moment?”_
> 
> _“If I'm such an avid liar, what good would it do to tell you what I want?”_

This memory passed through my mind much more quickly than it takes to read it, but Brian had noticed the slightly- longer-than-normal pause. He waited patiently for me to refocus and then spoke. “Have I noticed anything? Well, yes, Louis. I noticed that you’re starting up the Guilt Machine,” he said. He was still smiling, but his eyes were serious. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“You’re getting better at reading my mind,” I said lightly. It was something of a jest; Brian doesn’t have much in the way of psychic ability and he had no idea of exactly what I’d been thinking just then; unless I’m projecting specifically to him, he can’t read me at all. I can hear him if he gives a mental shout, something he has learned to do with the increased practice.

“Oh, yeah, right. Maybe when you’re not locked up tight,” he said. “But right now I can see it on your face. You look like that every time we talk about this lately.”

I opened my mouth to say something, I’m not even certain what, because he stopped me. “Don’t. I’ve told you this—whatever we have, it works for me. What would I do now? Everyone likes to think they are unique, but in my case, it’s actually true, you know? A little too late to go back to the Real World, whatever that means.” He maneuvered himself about again and leaned forward, kissing the corner of my mouth with deep tenderness. “You worry too much. I’m an open book, man, you know I am. No wonder you drove Lestat batshit back in the day. I never met anyone who felt guilty about so many things.”

He gave me a clever, cat-like smile and just like that I saw it, a clear mind picture, Lestat and I, a memory Brian had of us together. Nothing so dramatic as the wedding or any other number of grand gestures my beloved so loves to orchestrate. No, it was simple, just a glimpse he’d caught of Lestat and I crossing Jackson Square when he’d happened to be coming from the opposite direction. My arm in Lestat’s as I spoke to him and the look on Lestat’s face as he watched me talking, a look so infused with love and passion that Brian had held on to it.

“The two of you are enough to drive anyone crazy,” he said comfortably. “Then I remember that look and it makes a lot of the useless drama just fade away. Even mine.”

I drew him close and kissed him warmly. His heartbeat picked up and then doubled again when he saw me open the vein in my neck. He fastened to me with no prompting at all.

“Clever cat.” I murmured.

**~Apology~  
(Brian)**

There were no bright digital numerals to be seen anywhere in the uniform darkness of this room and the only sounds were the ormolu clock ticking to itself on a shelf across the room along with Louis’s occasional drawn breath, released so slowly it was barely audible. I was exquisitely thirsty; my tongue felt like a bit of dried leather and after a moment I rolled over and sat up, groping for the ever-present water bottle on the nightstand.

Water finished, I switched on the lamp and turned to look at Louis, lying on his side with the sheet pulled up to his chest. Even after years of seeing him asleep, the complete stillness was somewhat unsettling. I waited for his next breath; the shallow rise and slow fall of his chest was reassuring even if I did know it wasn’t a necessary thing. After a while I became aware that my stomach was raving for food, so I got up and let myself out of the secured room.

The door of the room is hidden behind a wall of bookshelves nestled beneath the staircase. It’s the sort of thing that is often called a panic room, though I suspect anyone who might somehow get in there uninvited would be much more apt to panic than the occupant. Louis is not as assiduous about security as I think he should be and he’s stated that he thinks this set up errs on the side of overkill, but it’s comfortable and doesn’t require me nailing blankets over windows, so he indulges me by using it.

In this space beneath the stairway there is plenty of artificial light if it’s needed, but there are no windows. When you come out to the bottom of the stairs, you’re in the wide space near the front door facing the park, where there is a perpetual soothing green gloom afforded by the canopy of spreading live oaks. Nothing even approaching direct sunlight penetrates even on the brightest summer day. The kitchen, however, is sunny with wide windows and sheer white curtains; _that_ was the test. Up to this point, sunlight has had no adverse effect on me beyond occasional slight discomfort. It’s this detail that most fascinates Louis and he has posited that perhaps there was a way to bypass the death sleep. Louis has said often enough that he doesn’t like the complete loss of control.

Maybe it would be different today; I don’t think he’s ever allowed me to take as much blood as he had this time. I felt it still, a surging, busy tingle that makes the muscles feel elastic and somehow charged and a singular clarity of the mind and the senses. I stepped into the kitchen and passed through squares of bright sunlight, waiting to see if I would suddenly combust, but as usual, nothing happened except for an increase in the vague swarming tingle that was still percolating through my body. 

There was a pound of rare roast beef in the fridge. I ate half of it and washed it down with another liter of water. It was still a couple of hours until sunset, but I figured I’d change into something suitable and go on over to the townhouse, to make my apology. I could see to the plants, sort the mail if Lestat hadn’t felt like doing it and then present myself, hat in hand, when he woke up.

**~~~~~**

I was a frequent daytime visitor, seeing to the courtyard cats and Louis’s beautiful koi in their large pond, so there hadn’t been all that much time for the mail to get out of hand and in any case Lestat had piled it indifferently on the deal table near the front door that served as a catch all for keys and phones and change. I swept the change into one narrow drawer and the keys into the other. No phones in sight but I recognized the older model I-pod near one corner as Louis’s; he rarely bothered to update anything that still worked. Lestat had probably been listening to Louis’s musical choices and that made me feel even worse about coming over here and venting at him.

I was still out on the balcony fussing with the plants when Lestat awakened and came out to investigate. “Well, this is unexpected. Don’t you usually come by in the mornings?” he asked, raking his fingers through his hair. His tone was mild but his eyes were unreadable.  
“Usually,” I agreed. “I wanted to apologize for the other night. It was way out of line and I’m sorry.”

He stepped out and leaned back against the wall, “You are not generally a boorish sort to be sure and I can’t remember the last time I saw you so inebriated.“

“Me either. I appreciate you bringing me home, too. Thanks.” 

“Think nothing of it. This asshat forgives you,” he said airily.

I don’t know what sort of face I made, but it made him laugh in that genuinely amused way he has. And Jesus, he was beautiful. “Tell me, did Louis send you?” he asked after he’d recovered himself. He straightened up from his studied slouch and stepped toward me, his nostrils flared.

“Well, he knows I’m here, but he didn’t send me, no.” I couldn’t drag my eyes from his and I felt that flutter in my belly, a familiar combination of wariness and arousal. He stepped close and I stood very still.

His head dipped forward with an adder’s speed and I felt his fangs graze my throat. “He sent a message, though,” he said. “I can smell that. How you love it when his teeth pierce your tender skin. But even better when you receive his little gifts. Last night, yes? He is wicked.”

I swayed a little and had the fleeting thought that he was possibly contemplating a feast of his own.

“Could be,” he whispered, “Just to taste him again.”

“Who’s wicked now?” I asked a bit faintly. 

He laughed again and the moment passed. “Sit down before you fall,” he said, gesturing to the chairs.

I did because in truth, the adrenaline surge was already being subsumed by the memory that flared into my brain, Louis deliberately opening the vein in his neck. Suddenly my legs didn’t seem altogether up to supporting me. Lestat took the chair beside me, eyes trained on the water dripping from the foliage. I liked the shadowy secret feel of this balcony, laden with scent and mystery. It reminded me of when I had first come to New Orleans and how it had all seemed so fantastically exotic.

“I felt the same way when I first came here. In spite of all the travel I’d already done, I was quite taken with New Orleans, primitive as she was.” He smiled a little. “You’re broadcasting loud and clear tonight, Brian. You really do need to get a handle on that.”

“It’s probably you.” I said easily, “King of all Vampires, right? All those super powers.”

“That would be ‘Prince’, you infuriatingly familiar creature. And no, it’s not that.” I turned to look at him. “It’s Louis’s scent. Very distracting. I don’t know whether to incinerate you because of this…development between the two of you, or thank you for looking after him.”

“Well, I would prefer not to be incinerated and we both know he needs no looking after.” I looked down at my hands, wondering if I should say anything more. It’s not like I felt I was hiding anything, but Jesus, it was a little uncomfortable and that last remark had not been entirely a joke. The easiness I’d felt only seconds before evaporated and a glance his way told me he knew just what I was thinking.

“Mostly a joke,” he said and there was a slight air of ironic apology about him. “Louis would say I was rude for picking your brain, but you really are louder than normal this evening.” He smiled faintly again and then I caught something from him, a wave of longing tinged with sadness.

“It’s fine. I’m used to it.” I said haltingly; the emotion rolling off him momentarily threatened to engulf me. Everything is enhanced for them and emotions are no exception. Even as I had that passing thought, the feeling, wave-like, receded.

“He does well then?” Lestat asked in a distant voice 

“That’s not what you mean, is it? He was here the night before last, so you know how he’s doing.”

“Well, perhaps you might deign to answer my question anyway.” His tone was careless, almost offhand but his eyes had narrowed.

I swallowed reflexively and nodded. “Okay, well he’s not losing his shit like he was for a while. He’s coping but you have to know he’s missing you as much as you are him. He talks about you often and if you think we’re living it up over there by the park, you’d be wrong. He needs me right now I guess, or he did, but it’s not like you might think. 

I had his attention now; I could see it in the set of his head, the square of his shoulders and most of all the way his eyes held mine, penetrating and frighteningly intense. He didn’t say a word, so I blundered on. “Mostly he talks to me. He likes me to sleep in the bed with him, ”I said. Oh, shit. What the hell was wrong with me? Shit, shit, shit. “But I’m pretty sure that’s more about keeping warm than anything to do with roaring passion.” Oh, good save, lame-brain, I thought. Way to apologize.

“I assume there’s no complaints from you either way.” he said it quietly, but that glint was back in his eye.

“None at all,” I said evenly. “But to answer your question, Louis is on a more even keel now but he’s not going to be fully himself until he’s with you; it’s the only time he’s fully content and I’m pretty sure you know it.”

My wariness diminished somewhat when I began to realize the barb was more reflexive than aggressive and the intensity in his eyes was all about Louis and not about something as petty as human jealousy or even his innate possessiveness. Lestat could have plucked any or all of this from my mind, I suppose, but Louis said often enough that even for those adept with the mind gift, specifics can be difficult to discern. I am not adept in the least and I thought I could understand what he meant: When he tells me I am ‘loud’, he’s not hearing it in language but in emotion. 

“And when he was not on an even keel?”

“Before you called him to ask him to come to Italy, he was sort of introspective--resigned but not despondent. We traveled a lot. When he got back, though? Scary. Very scary. I have the newspaper account of what they think happened in Central City. When you got back here, that’s when he started going to Mexico. I have a good idea what that was all about, too, and it wasn’t a new business venture.”

“Doubtless,” he said cryptically. I got the feeling that there was a volcanic churning beneath his cool and distant façade. 

“But it’s different now. He’s lost a lot of that anger and those Mexico jaunts? Looks like he’s done with them, for now at least. Like he’s stopped looking back and is beginning to look forward again.”

"I suppose we all have to find a means to settle our demons," Lestat said, and his eyes went from sharp to far-off, "Tell me... are those sweet infusions enough to soothe all that ails Brian Callahan?" He refocused and his expression shifted again, a look I have seen before though it had not often been pointed at me, vacillating between snide anger, genuine curiosity and cruel amusement. The shift in his mood was palpable and all sense of easy banter was completely gone.

“I don’t know what you mean.” I said warily, though part of me did.

"You should really ask Louis to fill you in on my indiscretions. Ask him some night while you're ah ...keeping him warm. Let him tell you, or perhaps you'd like me to tell you about the beautiful young man who kept me warm - and the price he paid for such comfort? But then again maybe you feel you're ready to pay that price, is that it? As I said, you're loud and clear tonight, but it's nothing I didn't already know.” He gave me a piercing, intent look. “Maybe I could beat him to the punch?”

Again, he moved toward me with liquid, frightening speed, his eyes inhuman and terrifying, his lips lifted to reveal his fang teeth, tongue snaking out sinuously as he leaned forward to draw in my scent. No, I realized. Not my scent, but Louis’s scent. I forget sometimes. It’s easy to forget what they are, what they are capable of when they foster the illusion that they are not all that different than we are, push the illusion that things are normal because that’s what suits them at any given moment. I was bemused to find that I was trembling violently. He closed his eyes for a moment, still inhaling and when he opened them, much of the predatory gleam had faded replaced by a malicious sort of mirth. He raised his hand, caressing my cheek with surprising gentleness before punctuating it with a swipe of one shining fingernail along my jaw.

He barked a short laugh. "Don't worry Brian. I'd leave that distinctly pleasurably effort to Louis, should he be inclined, but you might think twice the next time he offers you the dark nectar. There is a point where declining is no longer an option."

Lestat turned away from me and his dismissive attitude stung. He was really good at that, needling until he hit the exact right button. Maybe it was Louis’s blood that gave my anger impetus and allowed my fear to dissipate. “Louis’s already told me what he knows of your indiscretion. I met the indiscretion not too long ago, y’know.” I considered and felt another pulse of anger. “Well, it was not so much a meeting as a mind-rape, but hey, it’s just degrees, right?”  


He hadn’t turned back around. I didn’t speak any further—despite how it might seem, I have a healthy attachment to staying alive and in any case he already knew what I was thinking. At that moment Lestat did turn but he wasn’t looking at me. He moved to the rail and pushed aside the foliage. Beyond Lestat’s shoulder, I saw Louis standing across the street looking up at the balcony with an enigmatic smile on his face. In my head I heard his calm mind-voice ::settle down now, brian::

Louis crossed the narrow street at a leisurely pace and disappeared beneath the colonnade. We heard his light step on the stairway and Lestat muttered “Yes. Settle down now, Brian.” His attention shifted from me immediately as Louis came into the room.

“I trust I’m not interrupting anything?” Louis said.

“I’m certain you know exactly what you’re doing” Lestat replied with admirable restraint. “Leave it to you to add a few layers of intrigue to the evening.”  


They moved around one another in a sinuous dance, each move hypnotizing, echoes of the erotic overlaid with no little amount of tension. “One might say the same for you, Lestat, yes?” Louis said. He turned to me. “Your pardon, Brian. As Lestat has pointed out, you are quite loud this evening.”

I nodded. There comes a point when I just don’t know what to say to those things I have only minimal control over. His brief mind touch should have been soothing, but Lestat’s penetrating stare had become increasingly uncomfortable and I was beginning to feel like a mouse between two cats.

“This is getting weird.” I said.

Lestat snorted, but his sense of the absurd got the better of him after a moment and I was relieved to see his lazy, amused grin surface. Louis was also clearly pleased to see it; his eyes had gone from sharp and inquisitive to soft, that look that is reserved for Lestat alone. I decided it was time for me to go before my loud-ass thoughts created further turmoil. “Lestat, I really did come here to apologize for that night. Not the best idea, maybe. I forget sometimes that not much gets by either of you.”

“Weird is not the word for it.” Lestat said, and it appeared his geniality had been quite restored, now that Louis appeared to have settled in for the evening, taking his customary chair by the cold hearth. “Don’t worry about it. And my own apology to you, _cher_. I may have over-reacted a bit.” He leaned close and pressed a kiss to my temple.

~~~~~

Later, sipping from a glass of iced Bombay Sapphire, I found myself replaying the whole thing over and over and wondering once again at the turn my life had taken all because of a chance meeting in a book store.

Next - Chapter Twelve: Gala


	12. Gala

_(Lestat)_

In the weeks following, the courtship began in earnest. Born of the new understanding we had of one another following the outpouring of emotion at _Maison Chêne_ , we talked on the phone as though there were a thousand miles between us instead of mere blocks. We didn’t go so far as to play the ‘you hang up first – okay, no, you hang up first’ game – but when we’d run out of things to say, a rich silence hung between us and it felt like sanctuary, soft and warm without awkwardness. It was the same silence as waking up next to him, knowing he was lightly dozing and pressing close to him without a word, but I felt we were working toward such delicious moments and that thought was the only thing that kept me from begging and pleading with him to come home or at the very least sleep the day away together. In those phone conversations, one or the other of us would break the silence with a gentle clearing of the throat, and we’d say goodnight or recap the details of our next rendezvous.

The fundraising event came about before I was ready for the whole charade; it wasn’t that I dreaded attending; everyone knows I love to play the celebrity. Despite all the superficiality that goes along with such an event, I loved it. What I didn’t enjoy about this particular lot of individuals… well, it’s challenging to be congenial when you can look inside people’s heads and know their secrets – secrets that if the rest of the room knew them, would assure that these self same people wouldn’t be held in such esteem. Louis would remind me that I was the consummate actor and how could I disagree? I’d paste on a convincing smile, but the charm well, that was innate and I poured it out freely, along with donations. At such events your wallet better be as charming as you, or you’d both be left off the list the following year.

Classic jazz filled the bedroom as I dallied and dressed in turn. I was most indecisive about what to wear and scowling impatiently while gauging not how each outfit looked to my eyes, but how it would look to the eyes of those in the room. We all know I think I look good in anything, but there was the damnable avant garde comment hanging over my head. I’d tried on the few things I’d picked up on my last trip to London, but they were so stiff, figuratively and literally that I couldn’t think of wearing them for hours and appearing comfortable. There was the funky black jacket with the grey front panel and lapels, but the counterpart to it, the grey jacket with the black front and lapels was right beside it in the closet. I realized with a sigh that Louis and I had picked these up when we’d been in Italy together some years ago in happier times. We looked amazing in them side by side and it had created an easy means of striking up conversations with other fashionable couples who naturally, we invited to our rooms for ‘dinner and drinks’. The jackets were designed for cool weather however, and as hot as it had been recently, a dip to eighty-eight would be considered cool and no, long sleeves would not do for me. So what then? The hangers made an irritating scraping sound as they slid along the bar in the closet and I stood there studying the space as if some closet genie would appear and hand me the perfect outfit. Thelonius Monk played in syncopated encouragement, but no such magic happened so I gave up and went down the hall to ransack the closet in the spare bedroom.

After another half-hour of debating with myself, I settled on an old standard and without further accessorizing, was out the door and on the way to meet Louis at the soirée. It was probably a good thing we’d decided to meet there, for he was spared my ill-tempered fashion show. He’s had to sit through those try-ons before and it often becomes quite humorous. I thought about it as I drove across the bridge and headed Southwest to the plantation where the benefit was held. Yes, Louis had tried on many occasions to lend his input when it came to what suit looked best or whether an old ensemble still had character, but it always played out the same. He would start to offer his opinions and support if it seemed I halfway liked something, and shortly he would realize there wasn’t much point and then he would nod or give me a sheepish smile with a bit of a shrug because he knew I was babbling to myself all the while and would usually choose something on which he’d offered little to no opinion. It would have been enough to try anyone’s patience, but Louis has always been quite tolerant of my idiosyncrasies.

I accelerated and cranked up the music, rock not jazz thank you. Yes, I thought, he was tolerant. We’d broached the subject some in our long phone conversations, and on those few nights we’d walked near the river. We were scratching the surface of why his tolerance was so generous to a fault that it allowed me to walk all over him, and why I felt our bond was at times so fragile a thing that it needed to break so I could once again feel the magic of putting it together. All the King’s horses and all the King’s men, right? We’d get there eventually, because Louis would see that we did: his moving in with Brian essentially demanded that we figure it out. I mean, it wasn’t as if he said we had to have everything in black and white before he’d move back in, but I felt for sure that he’d want to have a good outline before that degree of trust was again offered to me, and that was fair. I nodded again as I rounded a curve a bit too widely; I deserved his wariness and to be truthful, while I was, as it’s said, ‘minding my P’s and Q’s’ I will admit that I felt more settled than I had in a long time, I knew myself… and I knew that the life of any immortal – well, just like a mortal, it can change in the blink of an eye. I had no plans to run off anywhere soon. I wanted us to get back to sharing a home and our love as we hadn’t in what seemed an indeterminate number of years. There was always some strife, always a crises and angst and damned if I wasn’t tired of it. Christ. Louis and I deserved a peaceful decade or two. Could I be greedy and ask for a century without disruption?

I pulled into the long driveway and slowly under the _porte-cochère_. The designated parking area was very nearly filled, and so the valet approached. Louis gets a sweet little bit of amusement out of my apprehension when it comes to valet parking services. It’s not just that the Mercedes was a hundred-thousand dollar vehicle it was what they might do while I was otherwise obliviously ensconced in the venue. Louis could snigger all he wanted, but I found the valet scene in Ferris Bueller to be traumatizing. Those guys beat the piss out of a classic Ferrari and I was supposed to feel secure after that? Louis always said _"Lestat, it's only a movie: the scene was for comic effect."_ butI could never quite feel comfortable with valet service after having seen that damnable film.

I stepped out and sized up the jacketed man in his thirties – what was a thirty year old doing in that job? I walked around the car and made a point to let him see me inspecting it – that’s a tip did you know? Let them know you know. It says, ‘you pull any shit with this car, you’re pulling shit with me and that’s not going to be a good thing.’ The man was most respectful and simply offered a patient smile until I reluctantly placed the keys in his hand. I was, as the Queen might say, not amused.

But ah yes, let it go Lestat, let it go. Right? Louis was waiting inside--or I should say Rene--was waiting inside, and that thought alone pushed all concern over the valet from my mind. Who is Rene? Well of course Louis and I had come up with several aliases to use over the years, mine certainly being more eh, published than his choices. Rene you see, that’s Louis middle name, and so his preferred alias in the overlapping social crowd we’d be among tonight was Rene Fontenot, and damn, something about that name turned me on. Who was I in such circles? My assumed _nom de jour_ , or _de nuit_ as the case may be, was Julian Degrand. 

I stepped up to the wide veranda beneath the tall front columns and was greeted by the doorman with a gracious bow. The stately old mansion reminded me of a time long ago when Louis, er… Rene and Julian had shared unspeakable love behind shuttered windows of an estate very similar to this one as the servants gathered at bonfires outside to speculate in fear. Ah, those were the nights, I thought to myself as I stepped inside and shook hands with half a dozen old friends – most of whom weren’t. Again, it was all superficial: these people gathered once a year to put on airs as we used to say, to schmooze, to gossip and oh yes, to be kind and generous as good southerners must be. It was pantomime and charade, done not with the advertised jazz band, but a classical group whose flautist was currently performing a quiet little cadenza to a piece that was distinctly Mozart, a truncated version of the concerto in G major. I wasn’t in the mood for it, so I didn’t linger with those in the entry hall – they were the “pre” in pretentious so I followed the scent of rich blood down a flight of stairs, through a grand archway and into the wide expanse of a truly remarkable ballroom. There were grand staircases on either side that led to a wide mezzanine for those who would rather congregate than dance. I walked halfway up the right side staircase and paused to listen to a far better classical group that was arranged on a dais at the back of the dance floor. They were in the middle of a familiar waltz and just as I was enjoying an accompanying memory to the piece, I turned and saw my beloved. He was standing in the center of the mezzanine faced away from me. His hair was meticulous and shone in the amber light of the room. He’d worn it pulled back in our traditional style, secured by a grosgrain ribbon. He and a lovely young lady were sharing an apparently humorous conversation judging by the way she leaned toward him and laughed with one hand on her chest. Well Lawd have mercy Mistah Fontenot, you are just _darling_. But I could not blame her for flirting with him. In fact, I couldn’t wait to do the very same and as soon as she left, I made my move.

I approached from behind and while surely he sensed it, he made no effort to turn and welcome me. My hands loosely grabbed either side of his waist and I easily snaked around to face him. I wanted to plant a kiss on him there and then as a firm greeting, but decorumbegged my discretion. Instead, I leaned in and kissed his cheek before stepping back.

“Hello darling Rene. Have you been miserably entertaining the socialites while waiting for me to come and save…” I paused as I looked him over. “… to save you?”

“Good evening, _cher_ Julian.” He gave me a polite half-bow with a smile so genuine it made me weak. “I haven’t been miserable. In fact, I’m quite enjoying the evening thus far. All the regulars are here, though you’ll be happy to hear that Rofourche was unable to attend. Apparently he has a horrid bit of illness derived from an unsavory meal; vehement gripings in the bowels and other such unpleasantness. Everyone has asked for you, however. You really should make the rounds and assure everyone the Prince has arrived.”

I shot him a look with my brows knitted. “The Prince, as you know, goes everywhere I go.” I patted my trousers discreetly and we both broke into easy laughter. “Look at you in that jacket. Where did you get that?” It was just this side of gaudy, which wasn’t typical of his choices. It was closely tailored in black but the front was done in a large floral pattern. Granted, the flowers weren’t nonsensical, they were done in shades of blue that somehow brought out the color of his eyes and made them even more distracting than usual. I shook my head as I studied it thinking I was by comparison far underdressed, but maybe that was as it should be for a change.

“Dolce & Gabbana, don't you know. Simone sent it from Paris after fashion week. I could hardly see myself in it when I first opened the package, but when I tried it on, I loved it. I thought I’d surprise you with it tonight.”

“You certainly accomplished the goal, and I must say that while it isn’t your usual style, you do look devastating. Had I seen the front of this jacket instead of the black from behind, I think I’d have marched over and promptly drove away young _Madamoiselle_ Coquette from your side.”

“Mm hm,” It was his turn to look me over. “The turquoise of that shirt matches the shade of these flowers. We weren’t even together and we’re semi coordinated.” He laughed softly. “Well your ensemble is _avant-garde_ in a retro style. Quite Miami Vice, and the linen suit is perfect against your skin. You look like you just came in from vacation and I would say that makes you the envy of all the stuffed shirts here tonight. Now so far as Ms. Flirtatious? She’s the daughter of that man over there by the orchestra. He’s retired Navy, a rank I can’t even recall but high up on the ladder. She’s a delicate girl who’s far smarter than the flirting Southern Belle routine allows her to convey. She didn’t know your name, but she asked about the blonde gentleman friend she’s seen me with on other, similar evenings. You should introduce yourself.”

“Should I?” I moved closer to him grateful for the trio of gossipers pushing against my side that made it an easy maneuver. He leaned his head closer to mine and I kissed the smoothness of his cheek, lingering there as the scent of his blood called to me. “I’ll go make introductions and shake hands like the good invited guest I am. Make me find you, what do you say?” I alluded to our little game in which he would move from place to place in the Quarter and I would track him all night until finally he was caught, my wild quarry, trembling with anticipation in my arms.

**~~~~~**

I made the rounds, smiling and shaking hands and pretending to listen attentively to updates on children, committee work, and for the love of God, canine training in preparation for precious to make the trip to the Riviera. At the end of the circuit, I saw the young lady Louis had been speaking with and her illustrious father at the side of the dais where the orchestra was clearing out and a crew was setting up the podium for the featured speaker of the evening. I approached her slowly; understand for a vampire, it very often is difficult to move at a natural human pace and rhythm. We become easily accustomed to the fluidity of our gifts and must remind ourselves to maintain a mortal stride and smile carefully so that our sharp and dangerous teeth are concealed.

“Excuse me, Ma’am,” I said in a most genteel voice. She turned to me and I was reminded of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. “My companion Monsieur Fontenot wisely suggested I make my introduction. I fear he was distracted enough from meeting you himself that he forgot to tell me your name.”

“You’re the handsome gentleman that’s always at his side. I have only made introductions with Monsieur Fontenot this very evening and had hoped to see you as well. My name is Susannah Jamison, sir. What a pleasure it is to finally make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise, Ms. Jamison. Are you enjoying the party? I must say that dress is pure Southern divinity.” Just as it is a challenge at times to hide our immortal nature, it is equally as challenging to not give into mortal habits, in this case, yawning. “I do believe they’re getting ready to make the presentation and coax our wallets out for a waltz.” She laughed in the way Southern ladies do, covering her delicate lips with a gloved hand. Susannah Jamison was a beautiful young thing and as sometimes happens, I felt a wave of sadness as I watched her attentively focused on the chairperson as they stepped up to the microphone. In three or four decades, she might not even remember this night and how lovely she looked in that overblown antebellum dress. I sobered and looked about. Louis was nowhere in sight and suddenly, little Susannah slipped her hand into the crook of my arm and pulled me gently.

“Come and meet my father.” She paused abruptly and turned to me. Her pert little nose made me smile. “Do you know, distraction must just be the order of the evening. You forgot to tell me your name, you devil.”

I gave her a contrite smile, my free hand on my heart as I bowed. “Madame, I surely was distracted by your presence and I do apologize. Julian Degrand at your service.”

Only for a second did she flash me a mock, scolding look with her hazel eyes that brought to mind the autumn leaves, then she was all smiles again as we approached her father. He was a mountain of a man, as wide as he was tall. Though he was engaged in discussion with at least two of the VIPs of the evening, he turned the minute he heard the word ‘daddy,’ and I could tell she was the absolute love of his life. His eyes took me in up, down then up again before easing up and lighting on Susannah. She introduced me and with an initial half-bow, I shook the man’s hand.

“Degrand you say?” His voice matched his build and I couldn’t take my eyes off the stars and bars on his lapel. I wondered what he’d had to do to earn each one. “I knew some with the name Degrand up Missouri way. Do you have relation there, sir?”

Consummate actor or just another guy looking to avoid an awkward encounter, I rolled with it: “Why yes sir, I have relatives in Kansas City. My father’s side of the family is in the shipping business.” He nodded, evidently pleased that he’d been wise enough to make the connection. Such things were important to the Old South. His daughter was positively beaming as she watched our interaction. I sensed the loneliness beneath her pretty smile and understood that lately, she’d begun to want a man to settle down with more than anything her money could buy.

Before she could even get the notion that I was a good candidate, I had the good fortune of an intervention from someone far more familiar to Susannah and her father. A gentleman in his forties made a rude pushe for position and I stepped back. The delicate arm that had been locked in mine slipped away and as she was taken aside by the stranger, her face conveyed the mix of frustration and attempted congeniality as she shrugged in a what-can-I-do manner and I shrugged in response. Just as I was about to walk off, she broke free and rushed to my side. Like a teenager vowing to sneak out later for a tryst, she promised to find me once business had been set aside. I smiled and kissed her cheek knowing by then I’d be long gone, but why ruin her hopes?

Again, I looked around for Louis. He usually stuck around for the boring corporate speeches – and truthfully it wasn’t a bad idea to at least get the gist of who was doing what. When running in such circles and trying to maintain that mortal cover, it was a good thing to know names, dates and as Mr. Jamison had demonstrated, relations. With one ear I vaguely listened to the speaker from the preservation society drawl on about the luxurious landscaping projects and the restoration of a plantation near Thibodaux.

With the other ear, I was far more interested in sweeping the room for the thoughts of others. Most often, I drowned it out, but now and then it was not only entertaining, but profitable to do a quick scan. In this case, I was fishing for mention of a certain gentleman in a certain garish but handsome blue flowered jacket. Faintly, I caught it on the wind, and as it came to me I rolled my eyes. Evidently the illness that had plagued Mr. Rofourche passed enough that he was able to attend at least half the event. He’d get brownie points for rallying in order to lend what I’d heard described as his ‘unique talents’ to the event. Why, I wasn’t sure. He was a decorator and his team had taken care of all the setup. He would get the accolades while they would get little more than dismissive stares from lingering guests as they tore down.

I saw him in the far back of the hall, his shock of bleached hair spiked up like a haystack come to life. He was talking to a waif of a man with oversized glasses. He nervously nibbled at his fingers and looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else. Rofourche was gushing about Louis and how positively devastating he was in Dolce & Gabbana. Perhaps trying to get the other man to show more animation, he whispered that he’d only come inside long enough to check the room but was going right back to meet Louis and take him on a long tour of the grounds. It was tempting to let that happen; actually, it was tempting to swallow what distaste arose in me toward the man and accompany him with Louis, in fact, let him think he was in for a double scoop of pleasure and then oh yes, then I would get to drink him out of existence once and for all.

An idle daydream, of course. Louis had a thing for not drinking at such events and he would certainly frown on this sort of activity here with so many prominant people. For my own benefit, I walked slowly toward the back door of the large room and delved a bit deeper into Rofourche’s mind. His eyes went glassy and he stopped mid-sentence as I plucked images from his mind. Louis had been doing his own leisurely tour of the grounds, no doubt admiring the trees and statues inn the side garden. He’d conversed with the man on the lower terrace where a lovely fountain was highlighted with alternating colored lights. Of course Louis was amicable and downright genteel – he’d always been more disposed to true Southern manners and if you know anything about that, it means he could pass as tolerating those he found intolerable and in fact, speak in such a way that they felt favored by his kindness.

I moved most easily past Rofourche and his companion out to the garden; I had to admit the added décor was subtle and added a great deal of ambiance. There were tiny white lights hung in perfectly imperfect rows, twin fountains that bubbled quietly and tall bouquets in stone urns that weren’t overdone, but added just the right color to the outdoor tables. Okay, so he was a creative weasel, but one that would sadly discover that Monsieur Fontenot was nowhere to be found.

I walked around the gazebo but of course he was absent, likely to avoid an unwanted encounter with you-know-who, but it was easy enough to pause and get a bead on his presence. As I walked slowly alongside the back hedges around to the slope that led away from the plantation, I spotted him on a bench beneath one of the massive oaks. Surely he knew as I approached but he did not let on one way or another. His eyes were closed as he drew in the sounds from the house and the few who mingled on the lawn including the one who had sobered and was now looking for him.

When I sat down beside him, he didn’t move; the sound and warmth of the evening held his mind and I waited those few seconds it took for him to speak. “At times I wish we still had a large home such as this away from the city,” he said as he slowly turned to me.

“We have the house in Mississippi if you want to be away. We could go there for a time if you like.” He laid his hand on my leg and looked away. “You could go there by yourself if you prefer.”

“Lestat honestly, you should just sell the house to the couple that lives there. We haven’t beenthere in what, a decade?”

“Something close to that, I’d say. Perhaps I will offer it to them at a very low price, something less than five thousand. They’d be glad to have the deed, I’m sure and they do care for the place.”

“Precisely,” he said with a nod.

He seemed in some way distracted but I did not want to pry, so we sat in silence for a bit to watch the fireflies and listen to the trickle of laughter we could hear from the partiers as they said goodbye to one another after soaking up more than a few cocktails. I wanted to lean into my beloved’s side and place a soft, lingering kiss against his neck. I wanted just to close my eyes and be there in that sanctified spot just behind his ear. The yearning for that closeness almost had me in tears. I sighed as I reached up and caressed his face - and he’s lived with me long enough to distinguish impatient sigh from needful, craving sigh. When he leaned into my touch, the look in his eye was heartbreaking only because it spoke of his own desire and yet I knew it was not mine to have – yet. And that word, that thought “yet”, hung in the air between us, mocking and palpable.

“I eh…” Damn but I hated feeling any degree of awkwardness between us. “I saved you from being hunted down for a tryst with my nemesis. Pity he got to feeling better this evening.”

“He’s really not so bad you know. He’s flamboyant to a fault, granted, but not to a loathsome degree.” He stood, turning with one hand extended and I grasped it gently and rose to my feet. We began walking toward the grand entrance where valets had begun to pull the cars around. I scanned the line-up for Louis’ Infiniti or the stately black Lincoln that Brian used from time to time when acting as chauffeur, but all I saw was luxury SUVs, limos, and plenty of old

money cars. A silver Bentley in pristine condition pulled ahead and I wanted to run my hand along the fender as though it were the thigh of a woman in a dress cut indecently high.

“I’m surprised Brian isn’t at the head of the line. He’s usually waiting before you’ve even said your last farewell.” Louis held up one finger to me and turned to walk over to a man I didn’t recognize. They shook hands and I caught a mention of another event that would be occurring as winter set in, one that I was actually looking forward to attending.

Louis came down the walk, and I noted how happy he actually looked, and for that my heart was eased. He stood again at my side and laid his hand on the curve of my back. It was a friendly gesture, proper in present company between old friends. “Who was that man?” I asked and as he started to answer I heard the squeal of tires in the lot and cut him off. “Anyway, Brian - Is he driving your car tonight? He’ll be here before the transient employee I was forced to entrust with my keys, I’m sure.”

“Lestat… _cher_ Julien, you get so wound up about that vehicle. You should sell it along with the country house and buy yourself a normal car that doesn’t worry you so.”

“ _Cher_ Rene…” I said with accentuation. “Do I look like I would drive a normal car? What would you suggest? A Subaru? Maybe I should get a truck or the best of both worlds, what is that mutant half-truck half car the rednecks drive?” I scanned the back of the line and finally saw the low profile of the Mercedes. Get a truck indeed.

“Actually, Brian isn’t picking me up this evening.” Louis said softly, shrugging off further conversation about cars.

“Huh, well I can give you a ride of course.” I said, my tension easing somewhat now that I knew the car was on the way, hopefully unscathed. You’d think I have so much money that it wouldn’t matter, but it matters. “That is if you want me to give you a ride back. Brian must have had other plans? Oh, this is the weekend he was going to, what was it? Isn’t he attending a concert, somewhere absurd like Arkansas?”

“Yes, but that’s next weekend actually. The reason he’s not here first of all is because I asked him to stop by the townhouse while you were out and pick up what surely is an abundance of discarded clothing.”

I pulled in my lips and stifled a grin. “Thank you.”

“The other reason, dear one, is because I thought I might go home with you.” When I lifted my eyes from where they’d been focused on a suspicious mark on the front bumper of the car as it pulled up, he added. “For tonight.”

I could not disguise my elation. I broke into a fang-showing smile and nodded. “Tonight then.” I reined myself in as the valet brought the car to a gentle stop and came to hand me the keys.

“Thank you,” Louis said, eyeing the man’s polished nametag. “Donald, is it? Thank you for your service tonight.” He handed the man a folded up bit of cash and gave the courtesy of that half-bow I’d been practicing all evening. I raised my brow as the valet tried to disguise his surprise and said a grateful thank you.

“Do you realize that man has a family? He’s got a wife, two kids and he’s worried maybe another one on the way. Tonight, he’s out here on a part-time gig running cars in this heat for people who could pay him a year’s salary without blinking an eye and they hand him two dollars. If my handing him a few hundred means he has a bit of faith in himself and others, so be it.”

I shrugged and we got into the car. The supple leather felt like home, and the thought of that word home made me hyper aware and excited all over again that Louis was in the passenger seat. He was more than willing to just go along with me – he was the one to suggest it and again I broke into what he called the TC smile. Yes well at least that actor had gotten some things correct. I turned to my beloved, “You’re always so diplomatic you know? Downright rectitudinous, I’d say. Are you sure you’re a vampire?”

He considered my question and followed it in his typical way with his own. “Quite sure. Are you suggesting an inspection to validate my claim? Great word by the way, where did you pull that one from?”

“The Internet.” I shrugged like I hadn’t much of a clue, but that was sort of a running joke of an answer for us and many in this day and age, but in my case it was the truth; I got it from a word-of-the-day website. It’s always good to keep your vocabulary interesting, I say. As for his question, would I like to perform an inspection? Mon Dieu, I would like to inspect him from head to toe and every inch of flesh between, which prompted me to ask another question. “Louis, earlier when we sat together you seemed at a point almost unhappy. What made you decide to come back with me tonight?”

“I wasn’t unhappy _mon amour_ , just lost in thought as it rose and fell away. As for my decision, I just thought that going our separate ways after such a wonderful night would be like sending a person to bed without dessert.” He looked over at me slowly and a smile formed as he added, “And I know how you like dessert.”


	13. Late Night Dessert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis delivers on his promise.

**(Lestat)**

I raised my brows and nodded in consideration. He damn well knew how I liked ‘dessert’, oh yes. Who wouldn’t if that word denotes any sort of physical interlude with the likes of one as beautiful as Louis? I fell silent as he selected a blues station on the satellite radio to let the sound of what I was pleased to call dirty blues accompany our drive home. It was perfect for the night, so I turned off the air conditioning and put the top down. The humidity air rushed over us, delighted by such rebellious opportunity and I slowed down from my usually perilous speed so we could hear the music and so I could from time to time steal a glance as the breeze lifted his hair. He smiled when he realized I was actively observing him, then closed his eyes and lay back against the headrest.

That left me to my thoughts, and being who I am you can bet they quickly came back to his comment about dessert – though not exclusively in breathless anticipation of consuming what delectable treats he might be willing to offer. In fact, I was once again divided in my thoughts; this phenomenon where there was the impulsive jumping-up-and-down Lestat and the ‘well now, let’s consider that’ version having a conversation in my head. This duality was a direct effect of Louis keeping me at a distance and some’ including myself, would say that if it gave me even a marginal pause and space for consideration before action, it wasn’t a bad thing. Even my insight on this new facet of our relationship was different, for I suspected that not too long ago I may have stood stubbornly with hands on my hips and asked why he didn’t impart these lessons years ago. In truth, he had – even if he hadn’t known it then, but I wasn’t willing to let the space between us absorb the weight of our wounds and render them into anything new. I would simply dig in my heels and throw up my hands … or leave – none of which added to or represented the masterpiece we could be when things were working. That, I nodded to myself, that more than anything was worth restoration.

The street was atypically quiet by the time we pulled into the narrow drive of the townhouse. My beloved appeared to be dozing but smiled when I reached over to smooth the hair back from his forehead. As he opened his eyes I felt a familiar gripping ache in my chest coupled with a melancholic swell of love for him. This was the dizzying, addictive feel of being in love with Louis. I loved him yes, but time and time again came the profound, sensibility-altering, do-anything-to-show-it feeling of being in love with him, and it was a dangerous thing. It was dangerous because bottom line, I loved being in love. I loved sending poetic letters and performing romantic gestures and seeing the reaction they produced not only for the recipient but within my own heart. Yes, beloved, sometimes I do understand myself better than you realize, I thought as I brought his hand to my lips.

He got out of the car by the back steps and I pulled into the garage. After I’d locked the car I told myself to stop thinking so much – even if it was worthwhile thought – and simply enjoy what remained of the night. _Mindfulness Lees-dot_ , I heard Khetsun whisper as I closed the garage door and headed for the house. Louis had already gone inside and the thought that he was there in the pristine, rarely used kitchen waiting for me felt so normal that I had to remind myself it wasn’t… at least to a degree. I told myself to play it by ear and just take it easy, but when you’re me, that is a tall order.

But he wasn’t in the kitchen, nor was he in the front parlor. I laid down the keys and took off my jacket. In the distance thunder rolled and I hoped the rain would come before dawn while the balcony doors were open. There was a soft creak above my head, one I have heard countless times in this house. The floorboard in the second upstairs bedroom, the one in which I’d ransacked the closet, was a tattle-tale. Of course Louis wasn’t trying to hide and while I was eager… this, this sensing him and again that sense that he was waiting for me was almost fulfillment enough for my senses. I heard the slow, inviting voice of Johnny Hartman come to life against a Coltrane background; the jazz that had played as I dressed still had been queued at the ready when Louis touched the play button. The sultry tones and the images they evoked begged me to ascend the stairs and see what else his fingers could incite. But I waited; I mapped his movements in my mind and stirred from the reverie only when an extended flash of lightning lit the staircase. “You don’t have to remind me dear Mother Nature,” I murmured, removing my shirt. I heard the fall of his footsteps into the hallway; perhaps more time had passed than I realized and he had decided to come to me instead, or had he changed his mind and decided to go back Maison Chêne over by the park. Either way, I wanted to head him off so I hopped out of my remaining shoe and tossed it aside before starting upstairs. He paused halfway down the hall and I paused on the landing by the window.

Gone now was the blue-flowered jacket and all traces of formality. Far more devastating, he stood there with his dress shirt untucked and unbuttoned to mid-waist, his hair loose on his shoulders, released from the ribbon, waiting for me… my Louis. Involuntarily, a smile pulled at my lips as I unhanded the stair rail and began to move slowly along the wall. Neither of us spoke, but I cocked my head questioningly and he teased me with a response of maybe etched in his eyes. We stayed our position for a tense few seconds and in those seconds I heard both voices of my conscience again and I probably wore a brief look of surprise as the calmer, more rational side won out. “Louis, I was eh… just settling a few things downstairs.” His brow furrowed at my abstract words. “Looks as though we’re in for a storm.” I added and walked further down the hall with the intent to take his hand in mine, but I didn’t get far.

“It does indeed,” he said in a manner that piqued my curiosity as our hands joined. Instead of turning to follow me down the hall, he turned into me and I was pressed backward against the wall. I was taken by surprise but before I could otherwise express my feelings his lips were upon mine and any trace of hesitance was gone. The levee of self-discipline that Louis so carefully maintains had broken, and as such I was deluged with almost punishing kisses as he pinned my hands crudely to the plaster. Outside, thunder applauded as strobes of lightning illuminated our passion. I loosened my hands only to wrap around him in every way I could manage; in his hair, under his hair pulling him as I whispered in his ear… yes, yes… clawing at his back as he lowered his lips and grazed his teeth along my willing flesh. A crack of simultaneous thunder and lightning struck close it rattled the window and the house went dark and Louis, still so close, nestled his head into the curve of my neck. No, please… I thought, don’t stop. Yet for the fact I knew him as I did, I understood he was collecting himself. So many times in our lovemaking, he had lain against me in a similar manner after letting himself lose all control and oh, what glorious nights those were when beautiful Louis cast off any predetermined roles and masks and just gave into unadulterated lust. They were nights that left us exhausted with pleasure, but this was not to be among those memorable occasions. I stroked his hair without speaking – I wasn’t going to insist, complain or even ask why. When again he brought his lips to mine it was gentle and I smiled against them in the dark.

“The things you make me do,” he said, still pressed hard against me. “Weren’t you going to show me a stamp collection or something equally passionless and distracting?” He gave me a fleeting kiss and stepped back.

I eased myself away from the wall and brushed my hair back. I did my best to act as though his rush of desire had little effect. “If I had a stamp collection my love, I’m sure I’d imbue it with as much passion as I do anything of interest to me. Now I have added some to the record collection,” I paused knowing full well he could see me in the dim light. “It’s in my room if you want to see it.”

“I bet you say that to all the boys,” he admonished playfully as he took my hand and followed me down the hall.

Once in ‘my room’, which never is, was, or will be exclusively mine, I lighted several pillar candles on the mantle, then went to assess whether there was a need to close the doors against the rain. I was pleasantly surprised that there was little wind which meant we could leave them open and enjoy the ambient sound. I leaned a bit off the gallery and inhaled the cooler air. I had the sudden urge to yell at the top of my lungs, ‘He’s here with ME tonight, do you hear?’ and laughed at the thought of our neighbors as they realized we weren’t as they’d suspected, gone on holiday. Louis waited by the fireplace and I turned and approached him with deliberate slowness as I joined in with the current tune.  
“It’s not the pale moon that excites me,” I sang as I stepped in front of him. “That thrills and delights me,” Those last two buttons of his shirt, unfastened and his shoulders bared. “Oh no…” I shook my head and leaned in to slowly kiss his collarbone. “It’s just the nearness of you.”

His hands came to my waist and without a word he artfully disengaged the button of my pants and they fell to the floor. Tsk, Louis, such talent, I thought as I pressed against him and demonstrated my own adeptness at such maneuvers. And there we were… amber-lit and bare against one another as the rain fell heavily in the background. We swayed gently together leaving soft kisses in turn wherever our lips fell and when he wound his long fingers in my hair and whispered along the curve of my neck, I wanted to take him down right then and there on the floor, but no… no… This was not an evening for feasting on a main course but rather for the dessert he’d mentioned, and Louis favorite dessert, _le frottage_ , was a dish I was all too happy to deliver and share. I led him to the bed and as he laid back against the (thank you Brian) neatly arranged pillows, I marveled for the zillionth time at his beauty. Louis is a work of art as anyone can imagine and I freely attest, and while I’ve beheld him in the nude countless times, I never am without amazement in those moments when the lean invitation of his body is extended for me alone.

There was no need for words as I caressed his cheek and sat beside him. I let my hand trace a line down his chest and yes, lower to tease and trace around that part of him that was evidently quite glad to see me. I wanted so to taste him there and everywhere and he knew it – but I would go only as far as he allowed and it was time to test those waters. Effortlessly, I straddled him and as I could do little to conceal my own evidence, and why would I? Instead, I pressed it against his and leaned forward, grinding deliciously as I leaned down over his chest. He pulled me upward and as we kissed, he lifted his hips against mine for more. I worked my hands under him so that as he drew me against him, I countered by pulling down on his shoulders. I rose up and bit at his lower lip teasingly then gently blew a strand of hair off his face.

“We haven’t done this in far too long,” I said. He wasn’t listening. He was alternately biting and licking my throat and I damn sure wasn’t going to deter his interest. Time was nothing for us, but we hadn’t engaged intimately since just after the ceremony several years ago. Years? How could it be that we hadn’t touched one another in love since then? Again I found my thoughts at odds; I wanted to insist that we make love – hell, I wanted to just do it without insistence… but I understood he wasn’t ready or more truthfully, that which was ‘us’ was not ready for that step just yet. But God, how I wanted him and so I would have him now to whatever degree we were ready for including mm, now that is an interesting place for your hand, Louis. I insisted that hardness into the grip of his hand yet as I tried to draw back and establish an easy rhythm, he pressed his thumb just below the edge and maintained pressure as I looked down into his eyes. “That technique is not supposed to be used to torture me you know.” He pressed harder and I thrust against his hand for emphasis.

“It’s only torture because you want more,” he said, his voice roughened by passion.

I wanted more – didn’t I always? To surprise him, I rolled onto my back and brought him on top and as such, he let go of the prize. “Don’t you want more…Louis?” I invited. I reached down with both hands to massage his lovely backside – now let me tell you a bit about Louis’ ass if I may: I could write sonnets about the firm invitation of his splendid buttocks and as I massaged him there and pondered such verse, it was his turn to surprise me.

He leaned down and teased my earlobe with his teeth. “I do want more… Lestat.” He said my name with the same drawn out hiss as I’d said his only moments before. He ran one finger down my cheek as he smoothly drew out the pronunciation of my name. The last letter was a whisper against my neck and then… he drank. I exhaled sharply, shuddered against him and felt the equivalent of a slow, rolling climax throughout my entire body. There was no roughness, no demand… only need as he held one hand in my hair and brought the other to my chest. He did not tease me further, nor did he merely rested his palm against me; what he did was grasp me so firmly that his nails dug into my breast and I rose against him in exquisite pleasure. Alternately he drank and paused, and in between, his lips found mine. Our legs entwined and though we moved against one another, all eagerness was gone. Just when I thought he would move on, he nudged my face to bare the untapped side of my neck. He paused for a moment and studied me – On his face I saw everything he hadn’t said, everything he didn’t need to say and...he dipped his head with inestimable speed and allowed himself to penetrate further, a deep bite. When I felt the pull, that indescribable, ageless draw of my blood, an involuntary moan escaped my lips. Now he drank with intent and in such moments came something magical; we could mind-share. I cleared the slate – there was no thought of I’m sorry, no regret for the recent pain I’d caused him, and no question or demand for our future. From me he saw residual regret, yes, but in the time of such intimate exchange, it was not about what either of us saw, but what we felt. In such moments there was no capacity for deceit; the blood held only an ageless truth. This truth was the singular entity of ‘us’, pure and eternal. It was our love in resonant pulses of scarlet and vermilion. I held him to me not with desperate hands, but with hands that knew him as my own, my child, my eternal lover, my everything… hands that wanted never to let him go. It was summarily, an alchemy as old as time.

When at last he lifted his head and looked down at me, I could do little more than shake my head slowly. How beautiful he was, his lips full and crimson-stained and what’s this my love? I wiped the corner of his eye and he lay his head down against my chest, spent from a form of love-making no mortal could know.

We caressed one another in silence, perhaps each reflecting on what had transpired. I hadn’t asked or insisted upon a reciprocal drink and it felt completely right to have that ball be in his court just now. For the first time in maybe the history of our relationship, I was not impatient or marking time with the thought of what reward my actions might merit now or in the future. To the untrained eye it may seem that way, but I was really letting things flow in their own time and direction and that understanding, that relinquishing was part of what I’d tried to explain to him, but that was more I had to examine on my own. He nestled against my side, his voice calm and sleepy as he told me about the generous donation Julian and Rene had given to Danielle Wittry, who was the head of some sub-committee I’d never heard of before.

A gust of wind kicked up and danced in the curtains and the candles guttered to dark. “Another storm coming in,” I said against his cheek as I got up to close the doors and secure the room. There was renewed thunder in the distance as I went out onto the gallery and looked over the courtyard. Home is where the heart is or so the saying goes, and always when I took in the scene of our home I was reminded of the history it had seen. I could see it all in such detail even now and even those images that brought a bittersweet pain were precious. Like Louis now in our bed if only for tonight, they were all exquisite tiles in the mosaic of my life. Once again, I felt a swell of emotion and that urge to yell it across the rooftops. He was in my bed where he belonged and yet as I stepped back into the darkness of the room and secured the door, I heard it whispered in my mind: He’s here with me. Untouchable, do you hear? What reason would I have to put it forth with a threatening tone? I supposed merely I felt some protectiveness for the success we’d had in getting back to such intimacy.

I slipped back into bed and had the idea to hint that since another storm was blowing in, we might have another round ourselves before sunrise, but my beloved was already deeply asleep. I settled against his back, stroked his hair and listened to the thunder. I closed my eyes to memorize the moment, knowing as I did that it would remain a photograph forever imprinted on my mind and heart. With that certainty, sleep claimed me as the world outside began to wake.

**Next: Ch. 14 - Louis, Aftermath**


	14. Revelations and a Foggy Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Louis is struck by a revelation and indulges in some self-examination.

**(Louis)**

I awakened quite early the next evening, my body still humming with the long-overdue infusion of Lestat’s blood. It’s not just the power he possesses that causes the sensation—it is the feeling of having a part of him with me always, whispering warmly as it coursed through my body, pulsing and rich and no longer diluted with the passage of time. This particular link, the one felt by fledgling and maker, bears frequent renewal; I believe that it keeps the emotional bond strong and enhances the physical bond. Too long without him and I feel faded, very much the ghost you can’t see.  


Through the many years I walked alone I was thought of the weakest of vampires and that is true enough; Lestat had never been taught how to go about the transformation properly, among other issues. By the onset of the 20th century, we had been apart for many years and I was weakened further by loss and by grief. It was akin to a wasting disease; I was diminished without his presence, both physically and emotionally. I don’t know if this is true of any others of our kind or if it had to do with my initial weakness upon being made, but it remains a solid truth for me.

He stirred slightly when I raised my head from his chest and I stretched across him to switch on the lamp. After a moment, he fell back to dreaming. This was not the prison of the death sleep, understand; he had likely shaken free of that as much as an hour before the sunset, perhaps longer. No, this was a more normal sort of sleep. I sat up, shifting somewhat so I could watch him, lightly tracing the scar beneath the collarbone on his right side—a half an inch wide at one end, trailing to the thinnest of lines, silvery and somewhat rippled. I traced it often, with eyes and lips, fingers and tongue. It was a gift from his maker. He had told me that long ago with a sneer on his lips that clashed with the fleeting pain I can still remember seeing in his eyes.

Lestat awake is, more often than not, Lestat in motion - ebullient, languid, sometimes wrathful and, oh yes, predatory and lethal; he is an emotional and often impulsive creature. To see him sleeping and relaxed holds an especial joy – his eyes moving beneath tender lids as he dreamed, the beautifully taut tendons and muscles in his arm, curved with negligent grace over the lion’s mane of his hair spread on the pillow. I had missed him so dreadfully and to have tasted him again at long last was to feel enveloped again in his love, my darling one, my maker, my own Lestat.

Rising from the bed in one smooth, quick motion so as not to disturb him, I went to the closet to choose something a little more suitable for a nighttime stroll than my eveningwear. It was difficult to leave him without a word after what he had given me so willingly, acquiescing to my needs without pressing me for reciprocity. I loved him for his great heart, for his dedication to working things through with me and I trusted him to understand my need for time to continue to mend the closing rift between us.

I _trusted_ him.

I stopped dead in my tracks and had he seen me, he would have laughed because the mirror across the room showed me with a slack-jawed expression of astonishment. Those three little words rang in my mind, a joyful carillon. They had come to mind easily, so naturally and I knew then that the slower approach had been the right one; so little time in the scheme of our world, but much more than we had heretofore expended toward this particular goal. With all that time, you would think we’d have learned more quickly; I think though, that vampires carry along just as much foolishness throughout their long lives as mortals do in their shorter ones. 

There was paper and pen in the night table drawer, so I wrote him a note, light in tone, but worded so he would glean the layers that existed beneath the lightness. His eyes were seeing us from a different angle I was certain of it now: he would take the meaning. I left the ribbon that had bound my hair the night before on the pillow beside him.

_*****_

Last night’s storms had apparently pulled rain in from the northwest as so often happens for it appeared to have rained for a good part of the day, judging by the puddles and the rising mist forming at knee level. Combined with the heavier fog now rolling in from the river, the night had turned mysterious and the moisture was a cool hand against my skin.

There were people about, appearing and then vanishing around me like so many phantoms, their voices and footsteps muffled. I could hear them, but the sound was less accurate for pinpointing location than the rich scent of their blood. Even sated as I was, that scent was always intoxicating and especially strong in the moisture-laden air. I was not hunting: they were safe tonight, at least from me, they were.

Pirate’s Alley was misty with vapor that had not yet crept over Royal Street and once I reached Jackson Square I stopped to admire the shrouded lamps by the gate and the church spires disappearing into the whiteness. On such nights New Orleans seems more haunted than usual, a weighted place filled with both sorrow and joy. I love her in all her moods, but I am most enamored of her in this guise, dressed in a diaphanous white gown, tattered at the edges, but still very fine. 

I wished Lestat was here with me to see it, yet at the same time I wanted the solitude to savor what had happened between us as well as the portentous feeling I had standing there in a place I had passed many thousands of time.

Trust is such an elusive thing. It takes very little to begin undermining it and once it's been broken it is a difficult thing to mend. The heart resists the realization, especially when there are still pieces of that trust in place. Sometimes it is lost forever. Sometimes, however, it can be rebuilt and if hasn't worked one way and the heart is determined, other methods must be explored. I never wanted leave him, but then, I never wanted him to leave me, either; it had come to the point of either continue to play the suffering fool, something I have allowed myself to do far too often, or throw a wrench into the works, let it grind to a halt and then fix the damned thing.

When Lestat had first left, off to Tibet to bid final farewell to his teacher and his friend, there had been no cause think he’d gone for anything other than his stated reason. Nothing solid, that is, but hadn’t I had the sense that the familiar restlessness had come over him once again? I had, and as the time passed with no word aside from a few meaningless and brief calls from Lestat, I chose time apart to nurse my lacerated heart out of a sense of self-preservation. I gradually allowed myself to be taken care of by another. How astonishing it was to find within myself a certain capacity to feel love stir, yet in such a different guise. That had been a surprise and while it was not at all the same as what I felt for Lestat, it had certainly progressed from affection to something stronger, more solid.

I began walking again, headed toward the river, thoughts turning toward that dear man. I could not have put my finger on what it was about Brian that had first captured my attention; after all, it was not my habit to reveal my name to someone I didn’t know, much less extend a fulsome and hand written invitation to my home. Perhaps it had been the bookstore, filled with the comforting scent of inks and paper and the murmur of humans who loved such things. More likely it had been the singular attention he paid to the lovely first edition Oscar Wilde volume. His hands were reverent and careful with the book, his mind humming with the passage he’d been reading.

He was so young, a few months shy of twenty, with the beauty that is reserved for humans at that stage of life, a vibrancy and ripeness that was very nearly _juicy_ in feel to one such as I; I am certain that had something to do with it. When he noticed me, he immediately offered me the book, though why he would do such a thing has never been clear. He’d had a bit of gravitas even then, and though I didn’t know anything about him beyond fleeting impressions, that trait also drew me to him. He’d come along, drawn to me, drawn to my city and it was with quiet delight that I found a friend in him.

No, it was not what I felt for Lestat; I knew it and Brian knew it. I also knew such comparisons were inaccurate and unfair and, having experienced it, I now had a somewhat better understanding of Lestat’s propensity to become enamored of this mortal or that. For a very long time I had been at a loss to understand why he would insist that if I would just take a lover of my own, let go a little, it would be a good thing. Now, even though I have managed to do what he’d been pressing me to do for many years, I still did not quite understand the reasoning behind it. Those times he’d said it, I had assumed he was assuaging his conscience to some degree.

I have been wrong about Lestat’s motivations before and God knows I have misjudged him many times; I have a persistent and unlovely tendency toward suspicion and rigidity and though I know it rarely serves me well, I haven’t had a great deal of success in breaking away from it. Brian had only a little understanding of Lestat’s motivations, yet he understood me well enough; going so far as to do what he could to push me back to where he was convinced I needed to be. He had implacably ignored my unpleasant traits and insisting that Lestat and I had become myopic, focusing on the call and response we’d grown used to rather than focusing on some way to break what had become cyclical. 

_“He grows restless. He leaves. He falls in love. He begins to miss you and comes back, says he’s sorry and you forgive him. If you look at the pattern, you must also see why it repeats. You do the same thing every time, both of you. I’ve seen it more than once even in the short time I’ve been around here. So. Time to do something different, right? But here’s the thing. You need to find a solution because I never even heard of two people that belonged together the way you do.”_

Brian is good at that, finding patterns; for better or worse, he’s made it part of his life to watch and analyze the patterns between Lestat and myself – I know it from his frequent comments as well as from the times he inadvertently broadcasts his thoughts, something that happens when he is particularly absorbed in a train of thought. 

That did not preclude pain on his part and for that I felt sorrow, yet I also knew that it would have hurt him more had I refused his help and later the intimacy he offered. He did not simply love me, you see, he hungered for me now and what we had together set into motion. There was still control there. Brian was not close to an edge, not yet at least, and there was still that fascination in me to understand how it was that, though small, his ingesting of the blood had thus far affected him in some ways yet not in others. He had said candidly one day that perhaps he was headed toward being something altogether different and I was inclined to agree with him, so far at least.

This was something I wanted and needed to discuss with Lestat and I thought it should be sooner rather than later He had much broader reservations about it and I expect this is a result of what he'd been through with Tristan and earlier with Lucas. I didn't know if he would understand why I believed it was different, but that didn't mean it was something that should be avoided. 

I continued walking at a leisurely pace, in no particular hurry to be anywhere when a thought struck me. It was Thursday, I realized. Brian often spent his Thursday evenings at The Kerry Pub on Decatur, playing his fiddle and assorted other instruments with a shifting group of people interested in Irish traditional music. I had not been to listen to one of these seisuns in some time, so I thought I would surprise him if he had decided to attend.

The fog was even more impenetrable on Decatur and the city seemed ageless, mysterious. I heard the music, plaintive and yearning as Irish music can sound, especially on a misty night. I even recognized the piece, one Brian quite liked though the name of it escaped me; Irish Gaelic does not come trippingly off the tongue when one is only marginally acquainted with it. I had known him for years before I knew he had a working knowledge of that language or that he was musically inclined. When I asked him why he’d never told me, he shrugged, somehow embarrassed.

“Oh, I play, but I can’t read music or anything, It’s not like anything I thought you’d want to listen to.” he’d said at the time.

His father had begun teaching him at a young age, he told me. That little spark of talent kept him interested and he’d learned more tapping into the rich vein of talent that existed among the Irish-American and Irish immigrant population that existed in the Boston, collecting tunes as the musicians like to say, and once he’d gotten to New Orleans he had found a musical mentor in a man called Rory Connolly.

I stopped at the steamed front window of The Kerry and as I’d thought, it was Brian playing, plaintive and sweet to an enthralled audience, called by the spirit of whatever had invaded the room, that thing that takes people over when someone has them well and surely snared with their playing. I slipped in unnoticed and sat down by the windows I’d just been peering through. If I’d thought to keep a low profile, it was in vain, because I saw Brian scanning the room, giving me his beautiful smile when his eyes met mine. Rory said something in his ear and after a quick nod to me accompanied by a mental gust of feeling that telegraphed his great pleasure, he switched his concentration back to the music.

I left with him some little while after, noting with amusement the various women looking after his passing with expressions that varied from wistful to disappointment to one case of pure venom pointed in my direction. He had his car with him, parked in the Jax lot across the street and though he wasn’t in the least bit inebriated, I took the wheel.

“I noticed you have a few dedicated female fans.” I said, pulling out onto the street. The traffic was light at this hour. The fog, if anything, had gotten thicker.

“The front row ladies,” he said easily. “Yeah, they’re enthusiastic. The blonde who was throwing the imaginary daggers at you is very persistent. And obviously blind.” He gave me a significant and appreciative glance. 

“She is interested in you; her taste is excellent. She does not appear to notice nuance, however. “ 

He shrugged the topic off. “Wasn’t sure when I’d see you next,” he said. “I take it you had a..umm… successful evening?”

“Quite so. I believe we have reached something of a breakthrough.”

He nodded, politely refraining from further question as he relaxed back into his seat. “Just a matter of time,” he said, and his voice was both satisfied and wistful. “Can you see through this fog?”

“No more than I can see through walls. I can hear through it, however.” He often asked such questions, busy mind making comparisons and connections. On the neutral ground I heard the hum of the streetcar followed seconds later by the glow of its headlamp. “Do you see that?”

He leaned forward slightly, squinting in that exaggerated way humans have when they are concentrating. “I do now, but it’s something I was expecting to see.” 

He sighed a little then and I glanced at him, curious. “What is it?”

“I can’t penetrate fog, but I knew the streetcar would come through it sooner or later. I expected it. I expect that you are close to what you want now, what you need. Something’s changed. I can feel it but I don’t know how to name it. Just don’t forget. Complacency really doesn’t work for you at all.”

His honesty is sometimes quite striking because it’s so unhesitating and for the second time in one night, I was taken aback, caught off guard by the simplicity of words.

Next: Fifteen


	15. Dreaming - Fuel

 

 

Chapter 15  
Dreaming  
(Lestat)

I was dreaming: I flew over a great landscape with rolling hills and a mist that begged me to come closer; Ireland perhaps, and then to a patterned stretch of sand that stretched to the horizon. Below me came glimpses of individuals and groups looking toward the sky and all about was the scent of subtle, unnamable apprehension in the air as I passed overhead. I closed my eyes and soared in the blackness of the sky, ascending into the cold altitudes and when ice began to crystalize on my face, I allowed myself to float down toward the lush tropical trees of an anonymous mountain range in an anonymous locale. I was everywhere and nowhere in particular.

Mingled with the entrancing sound of waves rolling in on the beach was a soft but growing chant: _Lestat, Lestat, Lestat_ it called. Aloft, I held my position and listened. Had I in sheer vanity mistaken the effect? No, it was there, somehow riding the crest of each bubbling curl of silver as it fell across the black sand. I found myself laughing with childlike amusement before again closing my eyes and jetting upward. In the space of that blink, I was above a thriving city, Shanghai by all appearances. Neon and florescence filled the sky, but still I heard the call of my name in sporadic, faded pockets far below. In the next frame of the dream I had moved without effort to look down upon nameless fields spotted with lakes that backed up to high mountains. Unidentifiable and vague, and yet instinctively I knew the place. It was California, certainly. Ah well, that explains a lot doesn’t it dear, dreaming self?

Set up the torches, rope off the stage; Where are my security people? I have a show to put on here, dammit. Look at those posters, me there in garish green and red: The irrepressible, almighty, holy shit and oh my God, Vampire Lestat Live and Undead. Show me that unforgettable event. Let me hear their voices chanting again and again. Bring it on.

Lestat? I sat bolt upright in bed; Louis had surely touched my arm and spoken my name, but no, he had gone and I was alone. There was no feeling of a presence, no bad vibes to speak of, the only notable thing was the absence of my beloved. The dream withered away as I traced the spot where he had slept beside me and then on the pillow I spied a souvenir. He’d left me the black ribbon he’d worn in his hair. I lifted it to my lips and kissed it tenderly while inhaling the unique scents. Louis still ordered his ribbons from a French milliner; as he had in those far off days when such things were _en vogue_. There was a narrow strip of suede leather stitched on to one side; this extra detail held his hair perfectly in place and kept the ribbon from fraying. The deep earthy perfume of the leather lay under the far more enticing redolence of his blood that tinged the fabric ever so slightly from where it had touched the nape of his neck. As I breathed him in, I closed my eyes and relived our evening together. Progress had been made, and this little remnant would be put in the cache I kept for all such treasured evidence of a love as immortal as the lovers themselves.

I rolled onto my back with a sigh, arms crossed beneath my head. If I had my way it would have been Louis wakening me from the dream. We would discuss it as he cradled me to his chest and from there? Well who knows? It was frustratingly useless to dwell on it, so instead I sat up, thinking to dress and perhaps find a bite to eat. There, on the night table was a creamy square of vellum with a note in Louis’s elegant hand.

 

> Thank you for a sumptuous dessert, my dear one. I look forward to future satisfying feasts at your rich table and the especial pleasure of assuaging our particular appetites. _Toujours_ ,  ~L

I folded the note in half and put the ribbon with it, feeling the absurd urge to whistle just for the pleasure I was feeling. I could really get used to this whole anticipation-as-its-own-reward deal. As I dressed, I found that I was whistling an old French ditty that came to mind when I was happiest. Things were being set to right with Louis and I and yes, I had to admit, maybe this old dog was learning new tricks, but then any dog that had Louis as a trainer would roll over and beg simply for the touch of his hand. I kissed the note before tucking it into the box with the other mementos and decided to get myself dressed for a night on the town. I felt more positive than I had in a long time and felt the desire for a celebratory drink – or two.

 

 

Fuel  
(Lestat)

The interlude with Louis had awakened me somehow; my mood was fresher than it had been in far too long. We’d made love in a manner that Louis more often preferred to outright penetration and more importantly, far more importantly, he had made the choice to drink from me. In drawing forth my blood he further tempered the slowly melting wall of ice around his heart that was never frozen solid to begin with. In drawing forth my blood, the blood that for all time was his blood, he reclaimed me as his own on all levels. This intimate knowledge made my heart soar as I walked toward the fringes of the city. My mind circled around the fact that I had not insisted or pleaded to drink from him in return. Well, good for me, eh? There would be ample time for that pleasure I knew, hopefully sooner rather than later. In the meantime, here and now, the want of him coursed through me like the taste of a fevered child and despite my elation, the predator within rose to the surface and demanded satiation.

When I stepped outside I stopped for a moment; the familiar street had taken on a mantle of mystery, shrouded as it was in thick white mist. All the better for hunting I thought with a certain dark glee. Not long after, on the farthest, darkest corner of North Rampart, I stood on the sidewalk and scratched my head for a moment as I’d done several times on my walk. Wasn’t there a gas station on this corner where I was supposed to meet someone? I was certain there was supposed to be a convenience store as well where I’d intended to get a soda after such a long walk. Ah you see what I’m doing? I’m a confused tourist – don’t you recognize me in my well-worn jeans, sandals and fleur de lis T-shirt? I skipped the strands of beads, but hey maybe I’m a frequent flyer who’s outgrown the need for such embellishment. I pulled a small map from my back pocket and attempted to study it in the dim moonlight. Within minutes I felt eyes upon me and smelled the pique of curiosity within the assailant’s blood as he approached from behind. Fully concealed, he crept alongside the abandoned building to study me while I looked again at the map and pretended to call someone on my cell phone.

“Hello?” I said then held the phone back to supposedly see if it was connecting. “Hey, where are you?” I said loudly, “No, I can’t hear... Yes, that’s better. Didn’t you say to go south on Rampart? You’re breaking up again. Can you hear me?” I sighed and again looked at the phone. Why do people do that anyhow? The phone should display a message reading, ‘That’s right, I’m not doing what you’d like me to do. Shove it.’ I asked once more if my imaginary friend could hear me and said I’d call him back. The phone went into my front pocket and after turning the map one way then another I crumpled it and threw it to the ground.

“Damn it,” I said loudly as I stood there surveying the decay of the buildings with the knowledge that they were occupied by homeless souls and junkies who never knew the time of day, let alone what devils might lie outside the windows, hungry to end their pain. The man who stood in the mist and shadows with his eyes fixed to me was none of these, but he was no less in danger. He approached me casually and asked if I was looking for something – oh indeed, I replied somewhat warily as I turned to look down the street. Did I have a cigarette he could have? Sure, man. Every actor has his props, right? He stood next to me inhaling nervously and exhaling in a tight, grimaced breath that sent a cloud of smoke toward our feet.

“I uh,” I stammered, inflecting nervousness into my tone. “I was supposed to meet someone in this area – he said something about a gas station but obviously I’m lost.”

“It’s the other way.” He gestured.

“Damn. I swore he said south. I’m terrible with direction.” I gave him a nervous, sheepish smile which he returned. His black heart thrummed in my ears and I swear I heard a little opera begin to play, a romantic and semi-comical soundtrack in the style of _opéra bouffe_. Yes, perhaps I was Pluton in _Orphée aux enfers_ , fooling Eurydice, who was in this case a swarthy, needful character, bent on thieving and taking my life if necessary. I studied him in the shadows; I saw beauty in everyone, but he had remarkable eyes, hazel in color but almost all amber. Before I could lock out the vision, Maharet with her deep auburn hair came to mind and I saw her holding this man’s eyeballs for a few seconds in admiration before she put them into her empty sockets. I shook my head to clear the image.

This man was no stranger to me. He lived in a sparse shotgun on the edge of the Treme, and I caught the first whiff of him years before; I’d been at Jazz Fest, and he had been with a small crowd of people on the edge of the lawn. Why had he caught my interest? Who can say why such things call to our appetites. Surely it is no different than a mortal who might be looking through a magazine and come upon a highly styled photograph of a menu item they’ve never tasted. “That looks really good.” They might comment to a friend, and so it is with vampires. I understand it’s a crude analogy, but let’s be honest and say that for us, mortals are the menu. One night a greasy burger like this man seems appealing, and the next night, it might be a high society caviar-topped executive that excites the hunger. There’s no outwitting it and no outrunning it. No one is exempt or safe. This man, a mechanic by the name of Taylor Radsick, was nothing overly remarkable but as I followed him, I knew this would be his last night. Why? Do I have to have a reason? Look around and ask yourself if the world itself operate on logic and purpose. Quite often, people forget who and what I am, but for better or worse, I never do.

“You ought to check your directions better. This is a pretty dangerous part of town.” He advised with an air of superiority.

“Is it?” I was tired of small talk. I wanted to rip into his sweaty throat, and fought to keep my cool. _Le menuet n'est vraiment si charmant_ , I hummed silently in my head with the image of my own amusement when Louis and I had gone to see the operetta years before.

“Hell yes,” He laughed, all too aware that he was the element dumb tourists should avoid. “Criminals, and obviously drug dealers, right?” We stopped on the sidewalk and he gestured to himself with a comical fan of his fingers.

“Right.” I laughed shortly. The gas station was in view, its windows half-boarded and part of the left wall crumbling away. Little did he know that this was a familiar place to me, and he never would have suspected that if you dared to pry back the board on the rear windows and go down into what used to be a service bay, you would find at least a few human artifacts.

“I’m not much for that kind of stuff, but I’ll take what you’ve got tonight.” I said – and I would. Props, remember? It never hurt to have cigarettes of one kind or another on board to entice a victim with such preferences. Is it bad to confess such tactics? I assure you that the amber-eyed criminal was doing such a thing to me, or so he thought. Giving him a look, I walked off toward the side of the abandoned station that was concealed by equally abandoned brush.

“Hey, can I get another cigarette?” he called after me.

I held the phone to one ear and held up one finger in a wait-a-minute gesture. He waited and I waited. To go back to my crude analogy, I was letting the hunger build; I was anticipating that first greasy bite. As for Mr. Radsick, he thought about my wallet: He thought about who he owed money to and what he might get for himself if there was anything left. In the end, he thought a second longer and came after me.

I turned slowly just as he approached and gasped as the phone fell from my hand onto the grass. “What are you doing?” I feigned shock and terror as he lunged, but when he hit my body full on and I not only remained standing but left him feeling as if he’d hit a brick wall, it was his turn to stand there with a startled and suspicious look. He rushed me again and I smiled widely just before I caught him by the throat with one hand and held him inches off the ground.

“Not so fast my friend.” I whispered against his cheek as I sped him backward and pressed him against the building. “Our roles are reversed tonight, you see.” I dipped my head closer into the curve of his neck and drew in the redolence of fear and bravado. His thoughts were racing as he attempted to push me back. I pressed my thumb nail against his jugular and felt it calling like a brazen and desperate lover.

“Let me go!” he pleaded. “Don’t kill me man. Who… who put you up to this anyhow?”

“I operate on my own terms.” I laughed low against his cheek. I was tormenting myself now. It was something like the erotic vacillation between Louis and I of late: Delay the pleasure, get off on the anticipation. Just a little sip, I told myself; just one. I bent slowly and pricked him with the tips of my fangs, only enough to draw the redness into thin beads that mixed with his perspiration and ran down his neck. I watched it trickle down to the pulse at his clavicle then bent to lick it upward slowly to the fount.

“Stop!” He spat and wriggled, quite out of control. He made a futile push against me and struck at my back as I held him without effort. “Let me go – I won’t do anything. I won’t report you, I won’t … give you the money back, hell, you can have my wallet!”

“But it isn’t your money I want. Now stop all this fighting.” I nuzzled against the curve of his chin as the hunger swirled inside me. I felt dizzy and aroused by the degree of need, and he picked up on it to be certain.

“What… what do you want then?”

The scent of his sweat grew acrid with nervousness, and I held my eyes on him. “Not that. You needn’t fear.” My eyes never left his, but I released him enough that he slid down the wall and stood against me. He wouldn’t even attempt to run: the tone of everything I’d said to him was firm but dulcet and in effect, hypnotizing. I ran one hand back along the side of his hair to soothe him ever so slightly. “You have a drug I need, a very precious drug.”

“I … I do? Just tell me man, it’s yours.”

His eyes were wide and I couldn’t help but to smile with amusement. “Ah, young man, you have no idea. It is already mine.” I clutched his hair in my hand, jerked his head to the side and buried my teeth deep into his flesh. He cried out only a little, and as I drank, his body went slack. I saw his crimes; Most recently a convenience store hit he’d pulled off with his cousin. The elderly store owner survived a good bash to his shoulder and oddly as I saw this I found myself amused by the torrent of choice words the old man had let loose as he boldly chased after the assailant. They’d made off with a considerable bit of money and weren’t in danger of being caught but they returned a week later and torched the store for good measure. I saw his bleak memories: A dingy house in the country, he and that same cousin swimming in a pool that bordered on being a mud puddle, an old hound dog that his father shot for spite, and his mother, gone off to save her own sanity when he was young. I felt him watching her go as his life ebbed away, and his emotion washed into me on the tide of his blood. This part was a blessing or a curse, but I drank still as it came, I felt it glance against my mind like loosened pebbles in the stream and closed my eyes against the image. He was almost gone, weak in my arms and whispering incoherently. He reached up and touched my face, softly exploring in the way of the blind.

“Not real…” he whispered as he slipped away.

Ah, but I was very real, and very satisfied. I rose up slowly as the warmth and buzz of the blood set in; the notorious swoon, yes sir. He fell away from the wall as I staggered backward and slumped off to the side, posed for an eternal nap. I leapt upward to the roof of the station and lay on my back to stare, most stoned indeed, at the stars that hung in the endless cobalt sky. The blood hunger was fulfilled, but as I lay there, I yearned for Louis. I physically wanted him in that instant to a painful degree, and for an all too vivid few seconds, recalled some of our more arduous sessions. Soon, I said to myself. I reviewed my actions only minutes before, tracing my tongue along the victim’s neck. Yes, I whispered aloud, the blood returned to the source… I hoped with a small smile that Louis was off in the night feeling the surge of it within him, swift and torturous as it spoke of home.

I dozed there on the shingle-strewn rooftop feeling a breeze stir and watching as the mist parted and the shreds dissipated. I stood, stretched and leapt down to the ground. A dog was sniffing at the edge of the brush, interested perhaps in my victim’s flesh. I stomped and shooed him off, strangely fascinated by the way he seemed to run in slow motion. Ah, I was still heady from the drink, and who knows what if any substances this guy had on board. I preferred to hunt in more elite circles, but that never ensured cleaner blood. In fact, one of the most memorable ingestions of drug-laced blood occurred at one of the Louisiana’s biggest state fundraising events. It’s enough to say that politicians have more than other people in their pockets, and in their veins.

The body would go undiscovered for years, maybe forever in the depths of the old gas station and so I took him in and placed him far below, beyond the service pit through a dilapidated wooden door to a storage area. It meant dragging the corpse over blocks of fallen concrete, but as the saying goes, if you want to make an omelet, you have to break a few eggs – or a skull as the case may be.

I left him and the depression of the place while there was still something of a swaying sweet remnant of his gift to carry me home. I cut the corner at Esplanade and strolled toward Royal. How nice it would be if Louis were there, leaning on the wrought iron as I approached, watching me in the way he’d often done, enjoying the familiarity of my stride and the way my eyes gleamed when I saw him there. It won’t be long, I thought. He’s already home; in the time since his turning, he’s never really left the one true home by my side even if he’s been a world away. I couldn’t disguise the smile that lit upon my face as I reached the door to the courtyard. By all appearances and in truth, I was an inebriated man. The intoxicants lulled me, deep and dark toward sleep and sweet oblivion against the coming dawn.


	16. Patrons

 

(Lestat)

A few nights later, I was seated at a small outdoor café with nothing particular on my mind. It may be hard to believe, but there are many times when I’m not plotting, planning, speculating or anything else – sometimes I’m simply being. Actually I take that back in part; there’s nothing simple about being me. I do endeavor to find peace with what and who I am but of course everyone has read of the struggles I’ve had with that over time, but there are moments of serenity such as the evening I was having , seated on a small bistro chair to watch the foot traffic. New Orleans is and ever will be a melting pot of humanity and it made the hobby of people-watching that much more enjoyable. The widely varied demographic that passed me by never would guess that as I sat there I could at will know their sorrows, joys, and secrets. It’s all a big game at times but I confess that I didn’t indulge much on a casual basis. When a vampire is first turned, it cannot be helped. It’s like having several television sets on in a room, all tuned to different programs. As we age, out of necessity we advance to the point where we can at least hit the mute button indefinitely. Either way, it’s an experiment I sometimes recommend to mortals to see our point of view.

As I sat there, pretending to read now and then from a local paper and drink my Americano like a good patron, I caught a darkly familiar scent. The sudden infusion of immortal blood in the night air caused me to raise my head and close my eyes the way I did when a sudden storm caused a fragrant and steamy petrichor to fill the courtyard on a sultry August night. This blood scent, ah, but wasn’t it my own then as well? David had been close by recently, not here in the café but… I looked around and saw him in a vision: He’d been outside the small art gallery across the street hours before, speaking to a mortal man I did not recognize. The mental picture faded as quickly as it had come, and I was glad for that fact.

The truth was, I didn’t care to think of David at all just now and didn’t have any plans to interact with him any time soon. Why, people might ask? I protest that I don’t have to reveal every detail or reason behind my motivations, but I’ll do it anyway. The world is a voyeur, so here it is at least in part: He would tell you that he was incensed, driven to the point perhaps that he was blinded by his emotions when it came to my actions with Tristan. As such he intervened, or tried to intervene by getting Petronia involved? Christ. Petronia might be ancient and powerful in her own right, and I might be risking her wrath, but I’ll say anyway that she is insignificant to me. Had she approached me, especially looking for a fight, I’d have thrown her across the room and walked away without another thought. Is that brave of me to say? Please. Think about who’s saying it. The greater truth is if for no other reason, he should have accepted Louis’ advice and minded his own business or better yet, if he was so outraged, come to me in person and gotten it out of his system. The whole Petronia business was ludicrous and as such, I could dismiss it while I sat and watched a child protesting as her mother tried to drag her away from the “dirty pigeons”. Come on lady, let the kid explore a little – the thought came and went, but mom paused to check her phone, sat down on one of the chairs near me and there the darling little girl chased at the birds and laughed delightedly when they flocked back to her feet. I smiled at her and don’t you know, she came right over to rest her chubby hands on my pant legs.

“Michelle, no,” her mother said in alarm when she realized she hadn’t been paying much attention. “Leave the nice man alone.”

Her voice softened when she looked at me, but I did not hold my eyes on her. “It’s perfectly fine,” I said in my softest, non-threatening voice. “Michelle is it? That is a name I don’t hear much anymore.”

  
“Her great grandmother’s name,” Mom said just before ordering an iced something or other. “I didn’t care for the name, but my husband – uh, ex-husband, insisted on the family connection.”

  
Mom was tired. She worked two jobs that barely covered her bills, had no health insurance for she and her only daughter and it seemed to her a never ending rut. I reached out and the sweet child clasped my hand, completely unafraid of the big bad wolf killer. “Michelle, ma belle, Sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensemble,” I sang the refrain to the Beatles song as I swung her little fingers in mine. She stared at me in wonder and I smiled first at her and then her mother.

“You have a lovely voice.” Mom said and called the child to her.

“Yes, so I’m told,” I agreed in a tone just shy of mocking. “I used to be a rock star.” She demurred and shook her head. I shrugged. “Let me pay for your refreshments this evening?” I asked.

“Only if you will join us?”

“Ah but I can’t. I’m afraid I already have a meeting planned with someone.” Did I? “Excuse me for a moment, won’t you?” I went inside and spoke with the hostess briefly and returned to the patio. “These are for you, just because you are a lovely woman with a lovely daughter who diverted my far-too-serious thoughts tonight.” I presented a card to the café, which was insignificant perhaps, but I’d slipped two crisp hundred dollar bills into the little envelope as well, and into the gift card I dropped into her purse unnoticed.

  
“I couldn’t…” She started to say, but with a little frown that turned quickly into a smile, she thanked me. “I just got this second job and it’s only part-time and …”

“No need to explain. I’ve been there myself.” Not really, but desperation is desperation, no matter how you slice it.

I nodded with a smile and set off down the street. Thoughts of David came to me once again, softer than before and I realized that honestly, I just didn’t care. Let him deal with his own drama of fledglings and mortal relations. Hell, let them all move to whatever island David had been investing his time and money in before he came to Italy. For now, my aim was exclusively to rebuild life with Louis, and mindful as I was to that effort, it seemed finally headed in the right direction. For all the things I’d heard old, wise Khetsun say in my time with him, it was no surprise to me that Louis was the one to get the point across.

 

 

**********

Several months passed and the turbulent heat of summer slid into the comparatively restrained flow of autumn. Though the city did not experience the dramatic change of season as one would find in the north, I had always found the transition most pleasurable. Louis and I would take long walks shortly after sunset and in various neighborhoods we passed homes both stately and ordinary as families sat on their porches to enjoy the cooler air. They would see us on the other side of the street and raise a hand in greeting, not in the least suspicious of our nature. The irony was not lost on us as we stopped to linger at a café or venture farther out into the less desirable neighborhoods where our normalcy was not so surreal.

It was on one such evening that we found ourselves on Julia Street nearing the river. I recalled an old friend had recently set up his art gallery nearby and I coaxed Louis along. We found it a few blocks over in a building that like many, had been converted to loft living spaces above exhibition studios. The little bell jingled as we entered and from the back came Aaron, now known as Kristoff. His black hair fell rebelliously into his face and without irritation he swept it back into place as he looked up to see us. He stopped, frozen in place when he realized it was not only me, but that I had Louis by my side.

“Lestat…”

His affirmation held some casual tone that said, ‘of course it would be you on this of all nights, why not?’, and it made me smile. “Aaron, long time no see, hm?” I looked around even as I greeted him. The exposed brick walls showcased his paintings, done in a macabre folk art style. They were an intriguing mélange of vivid colors. “We were in the neighborhood and it came to mind that you’d settled here.” He was trying not to stare at Louis who was carefully fingering some painted cat figurines that stood peculiarly around a clay pumpkin-head character as if begging for food. “Ah, do forgive me – I realize no introduction is necessary.”

“No, I mean, I know…” He stammered.

Louis, ever the gentleman extended his hand and as he did I felt a deep and familiar appreciation for the innate elegance he possessed. To my eyes it was slow-motion as his long fingers unfurled and the delicate little lights in the place glinted off his nails. “Hello, Aaron. It’s very nice to meet you.” His voice was a smooth soundtrack beneath my entrancement, until he nudged me ever so slightly with his elbow.

“You’ve done quite a bit of work since I last paid you a visit.” I said offhandedly, but I was watching him as he watched Louis. I never tired of seeing the effect he had on mortals.

“Uh, well, no, I mean maybe.” Aaron replied as he gathered himself. He rubbed his hands as though he were massaging in the lingering electricity that comes from a vampire’s touch. “When you saw me last, all this was cooped up in the back half of a very small apartment. It’s just spread out now.”

Talking about his work was relaxing him, and I once again offered a warm and easy smile. “I see.” I walked around slowly, looking over the various images his mind had issued forth onto canvas. I came to stand beneath a work detailing an ageless woman with a candle on her head, “The mother of all vampires?” I asked, as I turned back to face him.  
“Well it’s just an interpretation. Obviously I don’t know what…”

“I’m not here to judge my friend. The beauty of all this,” I gestured, “is that it can be whatever you or I want it to be – or not.”

“This is interesting.” Louis nodded toward the largest work in the room, replete with a skull, candles and black tulips in a vase.

“Yes, it could be a painting of your desk for that matter.” I teased. “Surely we could purchase it if you like.”

“I don’t know that I was suggesting that, Lestat. No offense, Aaron.”

“None taken,” my dark-haired friend said with a laugh.

“I’m afraid they’re not quite befitting the style of the townhouse,” I said as I clasped his shoulder. I realized it sounded haughty and added, “But don’t forget the promise of that commission we discussed previously, which I’m sure would also be most interesting to paint.”

Louis raised one brow ever so slightly. “It seems very rude to come into your friend’s place and leave empty handed, Lestat.”

“I can support the arts without purchasing everything you know.” I took Louis’ hand in mine and then nodded toward the artist. “I may send someone in a few days to pick up a few of the works. I think I know several places that could use such enhancements. If a man shows up here, should I give him a code word so you know he’s my agent?”

Aaron laughed heartily. “A code word? Oh Lestat, no wonder you have so many adoring fans. You’re hilarious.”

“That’s also an interpretation.” Louis demurred.

It was my turn to poke him with an elbow. “Yes, a code word. Something only you and I would know. It’s not anything so clever, but of course you understand such things have become necessary in my world.”

“A James Bond sort of thing.” Louis again.

“You’re precisely right, despite what humor you’re finding in the game.” I scowled. “Yes, I’ve got it. The agent will say his name is Richard Norwalk. How’s that?”

“Perfect!” Aaron said, this time doubling over as he stood and finally bracing himself against the wall.

Louis was nonplussed. “Obviously as you said, it is a private reference.”

“Nothing to concern yourself over, darling. _Une petite réunion_.” I didn’t elaborate and he didn’t ask. Sometimes things were better that way. “Anyhow, my friend, I’ll make sure your work finds a good home and include a little something for you as well. I know supplies and rent always need covered.”

“Lestat, you don’t have to…” he began.

“No, stop. You’re living your dream here, and can consider me a benefactor. It isn’t charity. You’re working for it, aren’t you?”

“I’m trying.” He stepped forward, closer to my side and I impulsively pulled him into an embrace.

“Nonsense,” I exclaimed, realizing too late how loud my voice may have been. He stiffened somewhat in my arms and I understood that while he considered me a friend, there was and wisely always would be a healthy measure of fear mixed into his feelings. “You succeed, my friend.” I let him go and stepped more in line with Louis who was giving me the look that said we’d outstayed a comfortable time limit. “Look around you Aaron. You got yourself here. Supporters aside, it was your heart that stayed the course.”

“Thank you,” he said with a sincerity that covered what words fell into the silence between us.

“Anytime,” I said with a short nod. “Now I think we’ll be off to do what things we do. It was marvelous to see you again. Remember… Richard Norwalk.”

“Right, right,” he said, laughing again.

“Nice to have met you Aaron. When this ‘agent’ shows up, send along a few of the cat figurines.” Louis added. “I know a few people who would like them.”

“Thank you as well, Louis.”

His tone was even and polite, but the deeper entrancement came back into his eyes and I knew to a degree, it was how I looked in those slow motion seconds when Louis held me spellbound.

“Goodnight friend,” I said and waved as Louis and I headed out the door. We walked a short way to the corner and scented the breeze from the river.

“You never outgrow the enjoyment of it, do you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. The overall game this life has become for you. The mortal interaction, the code words, the false identities?”

I grinned widely and stepped off the curb to face him. “All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players.”

He paused for a moment then muttered, “Shakespeare. Naturally.” A noise on the wind caught his attention for a moment, but he turned back to me. “The problem is, with you any audience participation has deadly consequences.”

“Louis,” I said with an admonishing shake of my head. “Do not base the future on past performance. Some might say it to be a wise practice, but considering we have all eternity, to do so with me would be like blaming Matthew McConnaughy for Sahara or George Clooney for that movie about watching the goats.”

His hair cascaded forward as he shook his head. “Men Staring at Goats. Your nice friend Aaron is wrong about you. You’re not hilarious, you’re outrageous.”

TBC


	17. Impact

**Impact  
(Lestat)**

We wound up not accidentally near the Port of New Orleans. The area, like many, was experiencing renovation but also like many, wasn’t quite there and in the meantime, it wasn’t the best place to be in the hours before or after midnight – that is unless you were a vampire. It had been far too long since Louis and I fed together and while he hadn’t agreed implicitly that we’d do so on this night, I had a feeling that he’d find the desire to have me at his side as the blood spilled.

The breeze blew steadily from the river, and for a moment we stood to admire the soft glow of the bridge lights on the water. Louis tilted his head and drew in what scent was carried on the wind. “Catching a hint of anything worthwhile, my love?” I whispered as I stepped behind him and encircled his waist. 

“I wasn’t casting for victims,” he said softly. “I was merely enjoying the night.”

“Mm, sure you were.” I countered. “Well I smell something worthwhile. What is that cologne you’re wearing?” I lifted his hair and kissed him behind the ear. He put his hands over mine and leaned against me for more and I happily obliged.

“Cologne? You know I rarely wear it. I think you’re just looking for a reason to kiss my neck.”

“Do I need a reason?” I mouthed against his skin.

“Oh no, not at all,” he murmured. 

It came out more like a purr and I might have been content to linger there, kissing his neck and whatever else he would allow, or follow the comical idea that was growing in my mind for a midnight break-in to Mardi Gras World for carnal festivities. However, before I could suggest it, there came a scream on the air. It was faint enough that were there any mortals around to offer assistance, they never would have heard it. “Ah. The dinner bell,” I said as I released him. I closed my eyes and honed in on the location. Just as I opened them once more, a second scream made its way to us.

“Tchoupitoulas,” Louis said even as he headed off toward the sound. 

Our speed carried us quickly to what was never more than a hole in the wall dive bar, that was being generous. The sign hung cockeyed and the rusty chain that supported it screeched in the wind. From behind the dilapidated side gate we heard the screams of a woman very much in distres.. Louis and I walked around the building in time to observe her pressed against the brick wall by a guy who had to be nearly seven feet tall. He held her by one arm while she begged him to let her go. 

“I suggest you do as she asks.” I said loudly and when he spun around in the useless security light, he was deliciously hideous. His neck was fully tattooed and a most obvious scar stood out in the light like a sweaty steel cable running from his collarbone to somewhere below his grimy tank top. I felt the urge to sink my teeth in at its root and rip the ropey tissue out ever so slowly. Mm, but I was getting vicious as the years went by.

Who the fuck are you?” His voice boomed as he held her effortlessly. 

“I really don’t think that matters,” Louis replied with his usual calm. I expected him to go to the woman and leave the sport of chasing her attacker to me, but that feeling I had earlier on our walk proved out. He was hungering and for a brief moment his eyes shone with what I could see was fast becoming an overwhelming need.. The perpetrator might have been huge in size but there is a moment when the biggest and baddest recognize perhaps not that we’re vampires but oh hell yes, that we’re something they shouldn’t have messed with, you can bet on that fact. 

The guy gave her one last shove for good measure and her head banked off the bricks. Then, suprprisingly quick for one so large, he was over the other side of the fence with Louis on his tail. Of course Louis could have caught him instantly – he might have come down full force on the man, but as I stood there watching, I smiled. This was the instinct in action and I hadn’t seen it in so long that I might have forgotten all about the woman had she not thrown herself onto me. She stank of tequila and the acrid sweat of fear. Her hair was caked with blood that ran onto her face, her jeans were half torn away and the cheap, metallic veneer of her boots was also bloody, which for a moment fascinated me. She began to thank me for saving her, and at another time I might have entertained the scene and played it out like the polite and charming Frenchman I can be – even at two in the morning in such a place. But in this instance, I wanted to catch up to Louis far more. I wanted to witness the giant go down as my love took him with swift and skillful fury. I looked down at her and initially gave her a patronizing smile. “Oh darling, how did you get yourself into such a situation?” When she began to answer as if we were going to have an actual conversation on the matter, I snarled and widened that smile. It was easy to prick into her mind as surely as Louis’ fangs were probably sinking into the ( _…ropey scar…_ ) tattooed neck.

“You should probably run,” I said with a deliberately menacing laugh. The intent was to scare her so badly she wouldn’t quit running until she reached her hotel on Canal Street, but honestly as she froze with widened eyes, my own hunger was piquing. “Get out of here, damn you!” I shouted. I pried further into her mind, past the fear and shock, and let her see precisely what I was ( _…the teeth, oh my god the teeth he’s a…_ ) that’s right mama, a bonafide in the flesh vampire, imagine that. Her gaudy footwear made a cartoon-like sound as she peeled out of the gravel and glass strewn lot like a cartoon character, without another word or the courtesy of a goodbye. I stepped back and noted that despite her injuries, she was making damn good time toward safety. The sweetest irony was that particularly toward All Hallows Eve, someone stumbling into a hotel lobby babbling about a vampire, a real vampire, would garner little more than a raised eyebrow, if that. 

Louis.

I turned and jumped the fence and focused my mind on the scent and yes, that repulsively wonderful scar. They were blocks away, near an abandoned warehouse. I didn’t pursue them with flash speed, but I didn’t dawdle. I reached the end of the street where I saw them farther down. Louis must have caught the guy already, had a sip and let him go, for he was babbling and I could smell his blood in the air. I sauntered toward them casually, wondering about mortal motivations. I shook my head and muttered something about complicated minds - when I heard it.

I stopped short on the street to listen and heard it again. I looked toward the warehouse façade - the buckled in metal doors, the random signs out of place and forgotten and I saw the flash as I heard the unmistakable clap and resonance of a gunshot. Louis… falling into the debris by a concrete barricade. The man, standing there, pistol in his hand, shaking and then with a snort of… what was that? Triumph? His eyes were wild, pumped up on something other than adrenaline but filled with disbelief and terror. He ran off into the darkness and as much as I wanted to grab him there was Louis ( _… get up get up get up…_ ) I ran to him, Louis get up ( _…oh god the blood…_ ) I touched his face but he was out – not killed of course, but even we aren’t immune to the shock of injury, especially from what looked like a forty-five calibre at close range. The entry points on his chest were bad enough but when I pulled him to me, my hand was a gruesome fit to the exit wound on his lower back and I felt something or other that should be safely inside his beautiful torso. ( _…Shit, shit… Louis…_ ) 

I looked around – for what? Help?

// _BRIAN!_ // I sent out a mental bolt, knowing it would slam him like a fist but I was nearly incapable of tempering the blow. “Louis… can you hear me?” He groaned and his eyes fluttered as I held him to me. “I’ll get you home. Hold on as tightly as you can my love. Hold on.” I heaved him onto my chest as I stood, wrapped my arms around him tightly and took to the air. The scent of his blood was intoxicating in a grand and terrifying way – it was not the same as when I drank from him. It was my own blood that I carried, wounded and in danger, blood that was yearning to return to its source, to find some safe harbor until it could be restored. // _BRIAN_ // I mentally found him and without further revelation just added the word // _HOME_ //. 

I touched down in the backyard of the house they currently shared with more force than could be helped. Louis didn’t make a sound and I looked down to see that he was once again unconscious, fallen into that state that overcomes us when we need time to heal. I held him to me and proceeded to kick in the back door, moving swiftly down the hallway to the bookcases beneath the staircase… hadn’t he said there was a room behind this damn thing? A panic room of sorts, hidden and fortified to the point that daylight and oblivious mortals would never find the occupants. It was a useful thing to have in a home but just now, where was the fucking switch? Calm down I told myself. Think.  
The loud and unmistakable growl of a Harley alongside the house told me Brian had arrived. He stood only for a moment outside the smashed door, directly in line with where I stood with Louis in my arms. With an anguished cry of alarm he charged toward us with panic in his eyes. 

Next: Thunderstruck


	18. Thunderstruck  -  Triage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Brian and Louis weigh in with their perspectives regarding the shooting and its immediate aftermath.

 

**Thunderstruck**

**(Brian)**

 

A couple friends of mine convinced me to check out a bar with them—a place not too far from the house. It was a mistake and we realized it pretty much from the get-go, but decided to stay and have at least one drink before moving on.

“Man, I didn’t think you could find this many douchy people packed into in one place. Good call, Chris.” James tossed back a shot to prepare himself for further observations. I was reaching for my beer when Lestat’s mind voice hit me at shattering levels. When I recovered myself, James was peering into my face. “Brian? Hey, you all right, man?”

I wasn’t, but I nodded, groping in my pocket for my phone and looking at it as though I’d gotten a message.I had gotten a message all right, but I sure as hell wouldn’t be able to explain the way I’d gotten it. The phone was a convenient prop. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I need to go, something came up.” “Need a lift? You look a little funny.” James said with real concern in his voice. He’s a good guy. “No, I’m good. I have the Harley. Look, I’ll call you—I just …”

He nodded. “Sure. Go on. Hope everything’s okay.”

A few minutes later I was roaring down Magazine Street, leaving the road once I hit the park to get to the house faster. The sudden mental shout in my head while I was sitting at the bar had jarred me, but far worse was the fear like a clenched fist my belly. Something dire had to have happened for Lestat to call out to me and demand my immediate presence.I pulled into the driveway and dismounted.

The lights were on in the kitchen, spilling out from the door, not just open but hanging askew from one twisted hinge. Sprinting up the steps I saw blood, dark puddles of it on the landing. More blood streaked the kitchen floor. I stood gaping stupidly for a few seconds until Lestat called out, “Brian! Get this damn thing open!”  I rushed to the stairwell to find him next to the bookcase, eyes blazing and furious. Louis leaned heavily against him, his shirt and trousers sodden with blood. There were books strewn on the floor at their feet.

“Oh, God. God.” I muttered, squeezing next to Lestat and pushing a few more books aside. With a shaking hand, I punched a string of numbers onto the keypad. The bookshelf swung inward. Lestat lifted Louis off his feet, carried him to the bed and laid him down with infinite care. Louis groaned behind clenched teeth but then, amazingly, looked at me and his smile was a beautiful as it was ghastly. “Looks worse than it is,” he rasped.

I stood still for a  moment, unable to think what to do. I tried to step toward him and almost pitched forward to the floor.

"Brian?" Lestat said, moving to the other side of the bed. I saw him peripherally, but I couldn't take my eyes from Louis's face, so gaunt and pale that he looked transparent. I was beyond speech, choked with rising panic. "Huh?" I forced my eyes from Louis's face and met Lestat's gaze; steel there, but also sympathy. I swallowed and took a deep breath. It was a little easier, looking in his eyes and I pulled myself together. "Okay. Yes." This was no time to fall apart; I had to focus.

"Right," Lestat said. "You’d better see to the back door. Wouldn’t do to have a concerned neighbor walking in.” He'd gotten on the bed and loosened his shirt collar, carefully gathering Louis in and drawing him close. Even a second before I would not have thought Louis capable of the sudden and urgent movement he made, fastening onto Lestat's exposed throat with a shivering, low moan.

“If you need to get out, there’s a green button on the console by the door. All you need to do is press it. You don’t need a code from the inside.” I said. The hair on my body had risen at that moan.

Lestat nodded and sank back into the pillow with a slight grunt. It was clear that he was in pain; his breathing had become labored and harsh. “Don’t take too long,” he muttered. I nodded and as I left the room I heard him say "Drink deep, Louis my love. My own."

 

*****

**Triage**

**(Louis)**

Giant of a man, I thought with interest. He gave the woman a shove and was up and over the fence with surprising agility for one so large. His hasty retreat triggered an urgent need to chase, so I leapt the fence and bounded after him. There was little thought given to much of this: I knew only that the longing for the thick brine of human blood was strong in me this night. Seizing the man’s shoulder I spun him round, thinking that there was enough blood in him to have both Lestat and myself reeling. I turned my head slightly to see if Lestat had caught up.

All it took was that moment of inattention. As I pulled the giant toward me, a sudden, enormous pain tore through me, followed by the report of the gun my erstwhile victim had shoved in below my ribs. Another shot and I stumbled backward, hand still out to pull him in to drink away the injury; he fired a third time, the bullet striking bone and glancing away. The giant let out a hysterical, shrieky sort of laugh.

I went down with a groan and let out a breathless, cramped laugh of my own; who’s the victim now Louis, you fool? I struggled for a moment to rise, but my body resisted, curling inward instead, the movement releasing another spectacular lance of agony.

Then, blessedly, Lestat was lifting me to my feet, fingers searching; I heard the horrified intake of his breath as he found the wound in my back. His voice was shaky as he spoke to me; I tried to answer but nothing happened and my mind slipped sideways trying to escape the howling pain inside. He lifted me, holding me against his chest. Though I could not hear it, I felt a mental thrust almost immediately followed by a rapid ascent up and over the low houses. Brian’s voice came a moment later, a mental arrow into my head, filled with anxiety. No tentative reaching: his mind voice was strong and loud, quite unlike his normal attempts at seeking contact from any distance.

I didn’t…couldn’t… answer either of them, fading in and out of consciousness as I was. My vampire body began closing down to work on the instinctual process of healing itself; the maker was there to see to my safety. Even as I had that thought, my hands tightened on Lestat’s shirt as we touched to earth with a good deal of force. Christ, it hurt.

I faded again and the next thing I knew we were in the house with Lestat tearing at the books, groping for a way into the hidden room. There was noise from the kitchen and Brian’s light, quick step. I saw his face, blanched and anxious as he rushed toward us. He nudged Lestat aside swept a few more volumes to the floor to reveal the control panel behind them. The bookshelf swung inward and Lestat hurried inside, laying me down on the bed. As gentle as he was, I had to grit my teeth to stifle another moan. Brian’s eyes were wide and I tried to smile. “Looks worse than it is.” I rasped at him.

He took a step toward the bed and almost pitched to the floor. I knew little for some time after that, succumbing to the immediate need to sleep and let the healing process continue.

 

TBC


	19. Unison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are several revivifying exchanges.

****

(Lestat)

“He’s going to be fine, Brian.” I said. The calm in my own voice was a surprise. If anyone had looked at Louis as I said those words, they would have argued otherwise. He was translucent, his skin paler than usual, and the wounds, _Mon Dieu_ , the wounds were atrocious.

Gently, I removed his shirt – or what was left of it. There were three irregular black holes where the shots had entered. There was one just below his ribs, one just at his stomach, and one lower and to the side: The last was the one that had rendered so much damage. Brian stood over us as I moved onto the bed. He was at a loss as to how to help, but desperate to do so. As such he was shuffling about, moving the covers to make way for Louis and me, and stammering incomplete questions all the while. Once Louis was still, I sat up and turned to him. “Brian,” I said calmly. He muttered something unintelligible and then his eyes were glued to the front of my shirt. I looked down and realized I was covered in blood. “I’m not hurt.” I said, with an attempt to smile. He shook his head, as though he didn’t believe me. “Brian, listen to me. I need your help.” That vacant look was still present. “Brian,” I said more firmly as I put my hand on his. 

“Yeah?” He answered as though he wasn’t quite sure who’d called his name. “Yes?” He spoke with more exactness then as he looked into my eyes. “Yes, okay.” There was the voice I wanted: He was fully back from the edge of panic. 

“Go on and clean up out there. Put the door back on the hinge.” I didn’t care a whit about the house, but he needed busy work to calm him down and to clear his mind. “You know I’ll take care of him.” This time my smile was genuine as I lay back down beside my beloved. “Come back to us in a little while, Brian. We both need you.” He nodded more confidently and advised me on a means of exiting the room should I have the need. With one last pained look he left me to perform the alchemy. 

My Louis. I turned toward him, leaned over to whisper so close to his ear… “Can you hear me, my love?” A low groan in reply told me that there was enough consciousness to offer him the one thing that would hasten his recovery. Even in his weakened state, he drew from me strongly; his infallible instinct fanned a warm little flame of pride in me at his tenacity. I closed my eyes and sang to him with my mind, not with lyrics, but with the soul of our memories together, unspecified, like the warm fog of a dream. He drank more urgently as his body demanded, and drop by drop, my blood became a tenebrous ocean on which he could float, oblivious to all pain. I held him closer and as our minds met I could feel the synapses connecting. I could see them like miniature bolts of lightning; I could feel the tickle of his nerves as they rejoined, and the strong pull of his muscles as they knit back into form. 

Reluctantly, I had to pull away. Of course he was going to be fine, but as I looked at him now with my blood on his lips, I realized, not for the first time, what it was to feel the bleak fright of life without him. I kissed his cheek and lingered there for a moment, then lay by his side. I drifted in and out of something like sleep, only vaguely aware of my own depletion or how much time had passed until I heard Brian speak 

****

(Brian)

The clean-up took a little while; there was a lot of blood, more than I’d realized on my way in. Still, this was something I was used to doing; you’d be surprised how much blood they lose just in love play; I realized, too, that Lestat’s push had been redirection to shake me out of the state of crippling anxiety I’d been heading toward. I worked steadily and tried not to dwell too much on Louis and how weak he’d looked. He was drinking from Lestat and he was tremendously strong in his own right, I told myself. He’d be healed quickly. Wouldn’t he?

I let myself into the secreted room and received another shock. Louis looked more like himself and he appeared to be asleep, but Lestat…Lestat was much shrunken, his skin tight to his face. “Jesus.”

"Not exactly." Lestat said with a quick, breathless laugh.

Louis shifted slightly and opened his eyes. I took a step toward him and touched his face; that choking sensation was back. "Do you need more?" I asked him.

"No," he said, his face soft and dreaming. "I need rest. I feel his blood, moving, moving – it’s fire in my veins. How it burns.” 

Burns, I thought and the feeling that I was choking dissipated, replaced with a familiar, feverish sensation. I looked up; Lestat was watching me, eyes sharp and focused. "If you wouldn't mind, _cher_ , Louis needs his rest and, as I said before, I need your help."

Louis opened his eyes again. "Volatile." he said in that same dreaming tone. "He needs fuel for his fire, Brian.” He flicked a fang with his tongue. “Lestat? My love? You will have a care for him, yes?”

I became acutely aware of Lestat’s intent regard at that moment, almost as though he was tapping my shoulder to get my attention. When I looked over at him he smiled widely, his teeth prominent in his gaunt face. “Of course, Louis,” he said, eyes gleaming. His smile widened further as I came round the foot of the bed. “Don’t be shy, _mon ami_. Make yourself comfortable.” He seemed about to say more but a look at Louis softened the fearsome glint in his eyes. He shifted on the bed and patted the space he’d left. I sat down. 

“Have a care, darling.” Louis said again, his drifting voice so soft I barely heard him. Lestat drew me down and I felt his hand at the back of my head. His long fingers threaded in my hair, tightening to hold me still. // _…this might hurt a little, but then you are used to that…_ // His mind voice was soothing even the as words danced with unmistakable intent. 

It hurts when they bite, oh yeah, it hurts a lot, like passing out pain. Lestat was holding back, I could tell he was piercing me with his fangs top and bottom, but not sinking his teeth in deeply. That's still a lot of teeth. Those two prim little holes on the side of the neck you see in the vampire films? Yeah, not so much. Even if they don't clamp down all the way, at the very least, there's bruising where the incisors grip the skin. The pain is fierce, blinding almost; it makes your spine stiffen and your hands shake, but he’s right, I am used to it, yeah buddy, I fucking _love_ it. His mind wrapped around mine and then that pain faded, was gone, replaced with his pleasure, the keen delight of my salted blood flooding his mouth, down his … _(beautiful)_ … throat and the feeling of irrigation in the tightened veins in his body; and for me there was the rapid physical release that I was powerless to control // _What about sex? Daniel asked in the book. A pale shadow Louis called it_ // and that release was  sweet and quite brief and then obliterated entirely by what I felt from Lestat, what I felt for Lestat, and yes, of _course_ Louis could love no one else; at this moment, neither could I, neither could I, oh, and it’s red and red and red, and there, there was Louis’s  exquisite pain, distant, held at bay but deep so deep, bonefuckingdeep, that pain and then Louis’s mind voice, rich and dulcet and familiar with that odd weight, tactile almost,  then I felt it because he lost control of it for a moment and how could he bear it, that pain ohmygod. He reined it in and then he was there with me, feeling Lestat through my mind, his …pain, Jesus, his PAIN… his presence and Lestat’s surprise morphed to blissed-out joy and oh god, this is heaven, this this this, see, I see as they reach and reach , no flesh, no form, like angels, souls that hovered over me and I knew them because I breathed them and that was a dream, a vision, had to be because can you really do that, breathe souls in and out, the tidal essence of those two? 

When Lestat released me I wanted to weep, but they held me there still, lassitudinous and weak, suspended in their thoughts, watching them hover, mingled above their own physical forms until I faded into a profound sleep.

 

****

(Lestat)

It was unusual for me to observe Louis in what he liked to call ‘natural sleep’ as opposed to the heavy and mandatory sleep that claimed us with each sunrise. Has he ever publicly disclosed his abhorrence of the so-called death sleep? I tell you that whether or not he speaks of it at all, he is quite disdainful of the way it overwhelms our senses and drags us down whether we like it or not. This night however, he lay like an angel with his eyes closed, lost to dreaming sleep. Occasionally he would turn toward where he’d last seen me as I sat in the wing chair beside the bed. I would give him a loving smile to reassure that I was still there, and he’d doze off once more. Of course he didn’t need me to watch over him; It wasn’t like he was in danger of throwing a blood clot and dying, but I needed to be there and maybe he was looking to see if I was still soothing myself by soothing him – that would be his style alright.

Brian, ensconced in a deep armchair looked somewhat less angelic, his face very pale and his eyes glazed. “He’s going to recover fully, isn’t he? The blood, your blood – there won't be any lasting damage? I never thought I’d see him so…”

“…mortal?” I fished the word from his mind. “It was horrifying to me as well. When I saw him go down all I could think was that he’d bounce right back up. My mind kept telling him to get up, but he’s not a super-hero.”

“You are though. You saved him.”

“We save one another.” I corrected without further explanation. To this he nodded, though he couldn’t understand how fully I meant it. "In our little coven, there are hatreds and resentments, but in the end, I’d save even Armand’s ass if he needed it.” I uttered a little laugh with a shrug. “Probably.”

Aside from a mechanical smile, he ignored my attempt at humor. “What would have happened if you hadn’t been there?”

“He’d have bled out like any mortal might have, and been lying there apparently dead – only still alive.”

“Hearing and feeling everything?” I saw him visibly shudder at the thought. “Christ. The Medical Examiner. I don’t even want to think of the possibilities.”

“It’s a fate I hope to never encounter. At least when your child slits your throat and dumps you in the swamp you can recover with privacy.” I laughed softly. “Don’t look so aghast, Brian. It happened. At least I got to drink the blood of slithering creatures to help me get me back to some semblance of myself. If one were taken to the morgue, there’d be little easy prey. Trust me when I say that back then, I couldn’t have brought down more than nutria at first, let alone a two-hundred pound lab nerd intent on performing an autopsy.”

He scowled. “I said I didn’t want to think about all that, so thanks for that visual.”

“Alright, I’m sorry. To answer your question, Louis may indeed have scars. I rather hope he does.” He gave me another disapproving look. “Because each time I brush my lips across them, I will be reminded of this incident and what it would be like to really and truly lose him forever.”

“That mental call nearly split my skull – you’ve never used anything approaching that volume and never with that kind of urgency. When I got back and saw all that blood I thought maybe we had lost him forever. I even thought maybe I’d lost _both_ of you forever.”

I looked at him then as he watched Louis. When he’d come rushing in beside me, panicked and knocking books to the floor, I caught the scent of his fear – but in it, there had been more. With his emotional pain, there had been the scent of Louis’ blood, pungent and yielding like a deeply colored rose. Had it been an instance of it rising on the tide of adrenaline, yearning to return to its source as I’d felt with Louis in my arms? It was an interesting bit of detail I intended to discuss with my beloved at a future date. The blood sharing he’d done with Brian was nothing to be compared to what I’d done with Tristan, or so I told myself. Actually, it was Louis in my head who said that along with ‘the look’, and in truth I was wondering if it wasn’t far more similar than he’d care to admit. What did we really know about it? His method was different; more precise and measured. He was meticulous in many facets so it made sense that he would translate that penchant to something like this.

“I know I don’t have to say it, but thank you Brian.” I offered. He didn’t reply but merely smiled and in that instant I loved him anew, but still more pointedly did I understand Louis’ love for him. 

“I think I’m going to go out for a while.” I thought to say more, but Brian looked beyond much more discussion in this weakened state. As I stood, still watching him, a wave of sadness mixed in with the gratitude I felt for this man who gave us his every loyalty washed over me. I wanted in that moment to take him once again into the bed and lie with him and my love, to share every intimacy with him in attempted recompense. I let out a breathy little sound as this thought passed. I needed a drink to clear my head.

****

(Brian)

Revived somewhat from a draught of my blood, Lestat departed for a little time to further fortify himself. We had to talk, he said, but it could wait for later or tomorrow night and he left me there to watch over Louis until his return. Not that I was capable of much more than sitting in the comfortable armchair I’d staggered into; Lestat's drink had removed a larger volume of blood than I’m used to at any one time and I was weak and dizzy.

After Lestat left, the room felt too quiet and somehow smaller in size. I’ve noticed his presence has that sort of effect and these last months had reinforced that. How could I not notice that Louis’s face was like a light when they were together? Even now, in the grip of a deep sleep, he looked paler without Lestat’s vital influence, somehow less _there_. Louis had been like this since their separation some years ago. I’d had reasons, I guess, to not want to see it too clearly and I defy anyone who has had any sort of close relationship with one of the immortals to be able to step back very easily from the overwhelming influence they have on humans whether they mean to or not, especially when involved in something so intense as willingly surrendering yourself to them.

These thoughts were easily relegated to the back of my mind in light of what had happened in the last hour, and so I turned my gaze back to Louis, deeply asleep only a few feet from me. I wanted to lie beside him, wanted to touch him and reassure myself of his solidity, to feel his breathing. I did no such thing; that more physical intimate activity had ceased for the most part since his rapprochement with Lestat had accelerated. It wasn’t anything I had not expected would happen—Louis has never been less than honest with me and as things changed, he was consistent in letting me know how he felt. He didn’t have to really say a lot, to be honest; I’d caught the flavor of his thoughts many times over the past couple years. He and Lestat are so much a part of one another that awkward or apologetic are rarely a part of their dialog. For me, at least, there is still the intimacy of a long association and a mutual love and really, when someone can read what you’re thinking at any given time, well, that’s intimacy, too. People seem to equate it with sexual activity but that’s never been the larger part of it for me.

It’s easy to get lost just looking at him. A lot has been written about Louis’s beauty and not a word of it is exaggerated. I wonder what he looked like when he was mortal, wonder if he’d been just as otherworldly. He says not, he says he was completely ordinary and that there was nothing at all that made him stand out, but I don’t believe that. I’d said as much to Lestat one night, back before he’d gone away.

_"Is it impossible for you to imagine him as a mortal? Perhaps from time to time you can picture him as he must have been then - long before the tragedies of life honed him into the beautiful wreck he was when I found him. Those first few tastes of him, how rich they were with his memories; that scar he has there just above the blade of his left cheekbone? He and his brother were playing at fencing with short branches. Can you picture that? It was a match Louis lost because his brother nearly took out his eye."_

I was grateful for that little gift from Lestat, a glimpse into a time when Louis had been vulnerable and mortal. Louis has a few other scars on his body, all of them a somewhat pearlescent sheen most noticeable in certain light on his pale skin; they are remembrances of his mortal life and each with another tale from those times. I’d never asked him about them; I wish I had on one of the long winter nights in the snug little cabin in the woods. He probably would have laughed and said he didn’t remember any longer.

Yeah, he’d been vulnerable as any mortal is, but he had been extraordinary whether he realizes it or not; the blood brings out their beauty, enhancing it to a dazzling degree; so too other attributes. Why else would Lestat see him as more than a victim, want him enough to bring him over? And since that night, there’s hardly been an immortal who has not remarked upon him, noted not only his features and his grace, but his fine mind as well. Another thing many of them have noted is his lethal nature and that’s something I’d only recently seen demonstrated in forms that were far more than the occasional glimpses I’d had of that side of things. I wondered how it could have happened that his intended victim had got the jump on him and in such a way as to cause this kind of injury and to have so uncharacteristically rattled the one who made him.

Lestat’s question, though—was it impossible for me to imagine Louis as he was when he’d been mortal? I had not answered him but if I had, I would have said that yes, it _was_ impossible for me to imagine, just as impossible as it was for me to picture a mortal twenty-year-old Lestat riding into a snowy forest to do battle with a pack of wolves with nothing but a balky rifle, a sword and a medieval flail or to understand that he walked the streets of 18th century Paris, when he was little more than a boy and one that had never been further than a few miles from the place he’d been born. These are extraordinary things and they are extraordinary beings. 

I refocused on Louis. Unlike his daytime sleep, in which he barely moved or breathed, this looked like normal sleep. His breathing was even and regular, blessedly lacking the stertorous gasps I’d heard when I’d come in to find him in Lestat’s arms, bloody and barely conscious. I have known Louis for sixteen years or so and I have never once seen him laid low like that--it had been completely horrifying. It hadn’t mattered that my thinking brain knew perfectly well that he wasn’t going to die. He wasn’t on fire and his head was on his shoulders, after all, but I hadn’t been looking at him objectively at all. I saw what my mind insisted on interpreting as mortal injuries and that maybe Lestat had been injured as well, that this was something he might not be able to put right.

He shifted in his sleep and even this slight movement caused him to stiffen with a little hiss of pain. In spite of that, though, I could see that he was improving little by little as Lestat’s blood worked its magic in his body. As though the last thought had summoned him, the electronic lock released and Lestat was there, bringing with him that vitality that I noted before. His skin was flushed and gorgeous and there was rain in his hair and wind in his clothes.

He went to the bed, leaning down to kiss Louis’s forehead. When he straightened up, and he went over to the monitoring system just around the underside of the staircase. “Impressive system.” he remarked, checking the cam views on the monitors. “Looks top of the line. You have the grounds and house well-covered. You are certain of the installers and the designers?

Of all the things I thought he might say just then, that hadn’t been one of them. I smiled. “Well, yeah, you could say that. I designed it, based on the CAD drawings I kept from what you had done in the place on Toulouse, just scaled down. Sacrificed a little room for thicker walls here, since it’s mostly a safe sleeping space. The construction was done in three separate phases all with people I trust and should anything be breached, well, I would know who might have done it. Tee Georgie and I set up the electronics and surveillance; the passcodes are changed monthly so even he doesn’t know what they are now, either ingress or egress. No one else even knows this room is here.”

“I had no idea you knew so much about electronics.” Lestat said in a voice still slurred from his recent feed. “How did ever manage to talk Louis into it? I can barely get him to close the curtains.” He sank to the floor gracefully and settled with his back against the side of the bed. 

“Funny the stuff you pick up.” I said noncommittally. “I had this done when Louis decided he wanted to stay here. It’s even safer because it’s anonymous. Most of the people who know about this place have no idea who or what Louis is. George and Jasmine know, and Perry, though she’s never been here. That’s it except for whichever nosy immortals might have sussed it out.”

He let out a snort of laughter at that, nodding appreciatively and I wondered just how much he’d indulged himself. Smiling in answer, I continued, “Anyway, I thought the room would be a good idea just in case.” Behind him, Louis moved once again, this time with no sound of pain, just a soft sigh when his hand came to rest on Lestat’s shoulder. He tilted his head back, pale hair falling away from his face as he brushed his cheek along Louis’s knuckles. The tenderness in the gesture pushed me absurdly close to tears. 

“Must be the blood loss.” Lestat remarked, quite obviously reading my sudden onslaught of emotion as well as noting my current weakness after his earlier draught. It could have been snide or condescending, but I could tell by the tone that he meant it kindly and it came to me then that I had missed him in in ways that I hadn’t realized and that actually didn’t have to do with Louis and the fact that I knew he was not quite himself when they were apart. I’d missed his sense of humor and his flair for making even ordinary things seem exciting. I’d missed his dangerous smile.

“Yeah, must be.” I said. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”

His eyes, half-lidded as he’d grooved along on his recent feast, opened wider and grew sharp. “Ah yes,” he said, showing me that dangerous smile. “Louis is doing well. This heavy sleep is necessary and the rest along with what he took from me will hasten the healing process. He needs more and though I can tell you would be willing, I’m afraid you haven’t enough to get this particular job done. That killer smile again. “I thought I might kill two birds with one stone, you see.”

“You’re going after the guy that shot him?”

“I thought I would, yes.” His tone was alarmingly casual. “This guy is a danger to himself and others. He’s been a source of much pain and suffering. I will allow that he gave me a good look at a truth I may not have ever let myself consider,” he paused to stroke the top of Louis’s hand, still at rest on his shoulder. It’s useful too that he’s such a large man - Louis could do with the extra blood.” His eyes glinted with a vicious sort of merriment. I blinked at him, unable to make an answer. Louis is much less apt to make such statements and in any case it wasn’t like Lestat needed any affirmation from me.

That look in his eyes struck a resonant chord in me, and I had a strong rush of memory. Louis biting into his bottom lip and pressing his mouth to mine, his arms tight around my back and the glorious incinerating flow over my tongue and down my throat. Brief, all too brief, his lip healing quickly; his mind touching mine, feeling the flare as his blood traveled through me. I remember that he calmed the tremors that followed the retreating flare with a soft kiss.

“Tell me what you need me to do.” I said, feeling a slow smile bloom.

 

TBC


	20. What Lies Beneath

****

(Louis)

“You are leaving?” I asked. Lestat’s face hovered close to mine, his lips moving along my temple as he answered.

“Yes, my love. For a short time. I have something to take care of, you see.”

“It’s not necessary.” I said softly. He didn’t need to tell me of his plans: they would have been mine had the reverse taken place.

“Oh, but it is.” His voice was so low I could only just make out the words. He pressed his mouth to mine and I was lost to him for some little while. When he released me he said, “You are much stronger this evening.” He nudged me and I rolled onto my belly so he could inspect my back. He let loose a little growl, that sounded angry and satisfied at the same time. “Still have a way to go here, ” he said and I pulled in a deep breath as his fingers traced the recess just below my ribs, searching for indications that any more foreign material might still be working its way out.

“Hurts.” I said unnecessarily, rolling over again so I could look up at him.

“Doubtless. All the more reason not to argue, my love; you could do with a good feed and it just so happens I have a plan in place. It will take a little time but I’ve talked it over with Brian. He’ll bring you along presently.”

I frowned. “Tell me where and I’ll get there. I’m not crippled you know. He doesn’t need to…”

“He does though, Louis.” Lestat said soberly. “His feet are already on the path. He knows it and so do you—and you needn’t look at me so disapprovingly. This is something he wants to do. Maybe he needs to, especially if there is to be a… decision made in that direction at some point.”

And here was truth exactly as I have been asking for it albeit presented in a surprisingly diplomatic manner. Indeed, he was being more honest than I was being with myself at this point. I wasn’t pleased that the decision regarding the coming evening was out of my hands, but that was part of what all of this was about, wasn’t it? Learning compromise? I am aware that I have a stubborn streak and that needed to be addressed at some point, at least insofar as to when it became a liability. I let out a breath and nodded.

He nodded back and I realized how closely he’d been watching me only when the tension drained from his shoulders. He smiled suddenly. “You were most voracious last night. I could barely move by the time you’d taken your fill.”

“As if I could ever have my fill of you.”

“Greedy baby.” he said, clearly pleased. I wasn’t certain what pleased him more—my voraciousness or my admission of said. To see his relieved happiness was as healing to my spirit as his blood had been to my body.

“You’re right about something else, too.” I said, stretching a bit to test how my back was coming along.

“Oh? Do tell,” he said.

“I’m really hungry.” I lengthened my body just slightly and watched an infinitesimal shiver overtake him. 

“Well then,” he said thickly. “I’d better be on my way.” 

He said nothing more, but there was a promise…and a demand…in his eyes as he left me there alone in the room which then made it my turn to shiver.

****

~~~~~

“I am perfectly fine, _mon cher_. There is a bit of discomfort and an annoying electrical tingling sensation; nerves mending, I expect. I could as easily have gone after this man myself: no need at all for such an elaborate plan.” I watched Brian punch in the entry code on the reinforced metal door of one of two warehouses where Lestat kept the cars that he fancies. “But this was not your plan, of course. Lestat can be persuasive when he sets his mind on something.”

“A little tingling?” Brian said, pushing the door open. He reached in and switched the lights on. “That’s pretty funny. You showed me your back, remember? It didn’t look fine.” He closed the door behind us and we walked toward the small office area. 

It had not been used for anything for a long time; there was a desk with a gooseneck lamp in one corner, several chairs, an old rotary dial telephone and a tall file cabinet left behind by whoever had owned the place before Lestat bought it. There was a calendar on the wall, dated September of 1964. The picture showed a saucy little red-head kicking her stockinged feet in the air and showing most of her skin in the process. Her mouth was pursed in a red ‘oh’ of sexy surprise, or so I assumed.

“See something you like?” Brian said in wry tones as he pulled the metal chairs away from the desk and wiped them down with a hand towel he’d brought from the car. He put it in his back pocket when he’d finished.

“I never did see the point of this sort of thing.” I said.

“Yeah. Those honeys with their ankles showing back in your day must have really got the boys going.” He was attempting to relax but his heart was not in it at all.

“Are you staying?” I asked, abandoning the pretext that this was a night like any other. For one thing, it was an insult to him and for another, what I’d said earlier to Lestat had been completely truthful; I was not just hungry, I was completely ravenous.

“Of course I am.” He avoided my glance, switching on the gooseneck lamp cabinet and then shut the banks of overhead lights off. He was as tense as I’d ever seen him, an undercurrent of fierce anger roiling just below the surface of his deliberately calm façade. “Brian, this is…unlike you.”

He turned then, and this time he kept his eyes locked to mine. “No. This is what I’m like when someone I love gets hurt. And this is what I’m like when I see how it affects others that I love. It hasn’t come up since you’ve known me, that’s all. You think I don’t know what it is you do when you take a victim? I saw the aftermath last year in Central City. I won’t faint from the shock. And there it was, behind his anger and the worry he’d harbored for my sake. There was the hurt that I’d known I would cause him—that he had known would come to him. His eyes were overly bright.

“You’re not simply talking about tonight, are you,” I asked. My eye was drawn to the taut line of his jaw and the fine curve of his neck. He sat down in the metal chair across from me. 

“No, I guess not,” he said heavily. He ran a hand through his thick hair and I noticed how pale his face was, how drawn. Stress of course, but how much had he given to Lestat last night? Again my heart swelled with love for him that he had so willingly offered himself.

“You need time with Lestat to finish fixing things and I need to process…well, everything,” he was saying, “And for the love of God, please don’t start in with how this should never have happened and all the rest of that guilt shit you vampires love to wallow in. I don’t want to hear it.” He gave me a ghost of his usually brilliant grin. “You guys think you know everything. Go on, look in my mind all you want—I don’t regret one second of any of it and I’m not going to go off the deep end without you. I won’t like it, but I’ll be ready when you want me to come back.”

“There is more between us than you walking off into the sunset will change, my Brian. You can’t think I would not welcome you whenever you are ready.” He gazed at me sharply, but he didn’t say anything, he only nodded. 

“I think we have company” he said a moment later. He’d heard the sound of tires in the long driveway between the buildings at the same time I had. “Here we go.”


	21. That Razor Wire Shrine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stalking, death and an awakening.

****

(Lestat)

Jackson looked at me nervously from the passenger seat: Despite the illusory reassurance I’d breathed into him during the requisite little drink, the mere fact that he was sitting in such a vehicle in an unfamiliar area appeared to alarm him.. Since the moment he agreed to get in the car, I’d had him on mental lockdown. If he’d tried to open the door and try the old tuck and roll maneuver, I’d have been on him in a second and he’d have wound up with far more than road rash. On the surface though, everything was cool: He was sitting in a luxurious car with a classy guy; friend of a friend, you know. The details of my deception and manipulations aren’t always so important. Why should I reveal all my tricks and ruin the reputation I’ve established? Mystery is a good thing, I believe. Sometimes as the saying goes, less is more, particularly when the details leave people filled with more disbelief and irritation than curiosity and yearning. Now where’s the fun in that?

I stopped the car just outside the warehouse and gave him another charming smile as I shut off the engine. “Relax, man. Remember what I told you. My friend can hook you up with just about anything you want.” He nodded rather uncertainly and opened the door. I came around beside him and gestured for him to lead the way. From the outside, the warehouse was as shabby and nondescript as any in the area and as such it aroused no further wariness in him. Still as we walked over the short span of gravel, he paused.  
“Wait. I mean, I get what you told me – but if Curt sent you to meet me, if you guys been meetin’ about this then why he ain’t said nothing?”

“Listen Teddy,” I addressed him casually. Theodore was far too formal considering the forthcoming action. “Do you tell him everything? Christ, man, you two live in the shade. I ain’t no different, baby.” I laughed and pulled on the smooth lapels of my jacket. “I just dress it up some.”

“No lie about that, my man.” He gestured back toward the car. “That ride alone is worth more than I ever scored in my whole life.”

I looked over my shoulder at the truck. “Mm, I’d guess so, but like I told you before, things can change on a dime.” I nodded toward the door. “I think you’re going to be very surprised.”

He looked me over again, his mouth downturned and one eyebrow lifted in suspicion. “Yeah, you look like a dude that can deliver some surprises.” He then broke out into unexpected laughter which caused his neck to strain invitingly. The front of his shirt, unbuttoned beneath his leather jacket revealed the scar I’d seen before: Flash of a dirty fight and his opponent holding a jagged beer bottle. It shone in the dim light, gnarled like the roots of the oaks that heaved up through the sidewalks on Prytania.

“Come on man, let’s see whatcha got.”He began to walk again, breaking my focus. That was a good thing. I might have taken him there and then to feel the gristle against my tongue. The door to the warehouse squealed and then rose upward enough to allow us to enter. After a moment, it rattled back down to the ground. Distracted, I thought about the spring mechanism until Jackson let out a low whistle. I looked up and saw him turning around with an appreciative smile as he took inventory of the cars.

“Curt told me you might be in the market for a new ride … among other things. This is just a sample of what my connections can get.” He threw me another semi-suspicious glance. “Now I’m a man who doesn’t much care where another man gets the funds for such things.” I shrugged and walked over to the side of one of the sleek vehicles and ran my hand along the fender. “What happens in New Orleans stays in New Orleans, or something like that right?”

“That’s for sure, I don’t need anyone asking more questions – now I be driving something like that and damn, everyone from my girls to Jesus himself gon’ be asking me what I got up to. I ain’t looking for nothing that flashy. Me and Curt, we ride up to Birmingham or Tuscaloosa a lot. He got family up there and a lot of them and their friends be wanting things that seem to come easier for us down here, I don’t know. If we could get a nice ride, make us look more…”

“Established?” I volunteered. “Oh that’s understandable, yes.” I laughed easily and went over toward the back wall. Brian had killed the overhead lights but for a few and the shadows served the game so much better. “I get that, man. These flashy cars, the Escalade – that’s business. You don’t have to have an Aston-Martin, but you wouldn’t have taken me as seriously if I’d have pulled up to our meeting in a mini-van, right? So far as product, let me tell you it does come easy to those with a good head on their shoulders, Teddy and if I didn’t see something … profitable in you, we wouldn’t be talking right now. Curt, yeah, he’s the money guy but you, you’re the brawn and the brains of getting shit done, right?”

“Sometime seems like that, but we work good together me and him. We been friends for a long time, since back in high school, but you know that school’s long gone now.” He paused in reverie and without trying I saw them as teenagers, chatting up the long-legged girls in the hallway. “Listen now, what we could be needing sometime soon is some how you wanna say it, fortifications.” He winked at his own wit. “Had me a pretty good 45 but had to make it disappear. That’s ok though, I been wantin’ something bigger anyway, more intimidating. There’s places and people we’d be dealing with that would either want to buy them from us, or you know, be on the wrong end of them for not payin’ up.” He laughed again through his nicotine-stained teeth. “You know what I mean?”

“Weapons?” I nodded in a casual, almost bored fashion. “I’ve always found more creative ways of collecting the debts owed to me or others.” I held my eyes on him and for amusement with my own double-entendre, laughed a little in turn. I had to check myself as the thought of finding his 45 and shoving it deep into certain cavities came to mind. “But hey, if that’s your preference, they’re possible to attain. You’d have to let me know specifically what you needed, and of course what I get out of the deal.”

Just as he was about to ask for clarification, there was the clatter of the office door closing and Brian came down the steps and out of the shadows. I stepped forward some to reassure both he and Mr. Jackson that everything was just fine. Brian had no true inclination as to what I was doing with the guy – it’s not like I’d actually had a plan from point A to point Z – I rarely do.

“Brian,” I said with a wide, welcoming smile. No need for incognito, fabricated names tonight – there’d be no remaining witnesses after all. “This is Theodore Jackson,” I gestured, this time giving the air of more respect. Introductions after all. “You remember I said something a few nights ago about the guy I was interested in bringing on board?” I looked at Jackson. “Brian here is one of my top guys – he’s really the one who knows the streets. I like to stay behind the scene, but he can get you whatever – cars, women, drugs,” I walked over and clasped Brian’s shoulder. “Isn’t that right my man? Tell Teddy how it is.”

Only for a minute did Brian’s eyes question me, and then he was rolling with it like a pro. He shook Teddy’s hand and with a short cock of his head toward the opposite corner of the warehouse, had the man away from me and engaged in easy conversation about what things he could procure. It was easy for him because in saying he was more street-wise, I hadn’t lied. 

After the hurricane, Brian had been a liaison to everyone from law enforcement to the more criminal element – even if they might be one and the same. I was a killer who prowled the streets, but I was still a snob. I didn’t hang in the dive bars listening to local jazz artists, I didn’t spend time at the joints on Bourbon Street or even mingle with the mechanics, retailers and buggy drivers that Brian knew both of his own accord and for the daytime tasks he managed for us. I heard Jackson whistle the same way he had on seeing the cars, but as he shook his head and held his massive hands out like cups in front of his chest, I presumed he was referring to what he often saw as just another kind of pleasure machine. Brian responded with a knowing nod and with Jackson’s back to me, I moved without a word into the office. Louis rolled the office chair back as I sat on the edge of the well-worn desk. With the monitors on the wall, he’d seen the whole affair as it played out. As the light flickered on his face, I wanted to take him in my arms and forget everything else, but that would have to come later. Just now, a need for Jackson’s blood, that deep, ancient hunger emanated from him so strongly that it aroused within me a correlating lust – and for that there is nothing which can compare – no physicality, no art, no music. Simply, the blood commands.

“He’s disgusting.” I uttered to break the spell.

“He’s perfect.”

The low bit of laughter that came from my beloved was nothing short of menacing and as ever, I was dazzled to hear it alongside the preternatural glow that rose in his eyes. Oh yes, it was time for the show to really begin. I took his hand and pulled him up against my chest. For several seconds, time stood still and then we turned our attention to the duo beyond the windows. 

Brian and Jackson were seated next to the old work bench, jiving like they’d known one another for years. We watched as Jackson stepped off for a moment to take a phone call while Brian discreetly turned toward the office, without a trace of nervousness in his eyes. Had I not known better, I’d have thought Brian lapsed into some space where he didn’t have to think about the man’s death – but I did know better, didn’t I, and Louis knew it too. The real truth of it was that in some fashion, he wanted to bear witness, if for no other reason than to know the beautiful evil that swam in his own veins.Louis and I stepped out onto the platform that wrapped around the office. The radio played some early jazz, Jelly Roll Morton maybe. 

“Mr. Jackson,” I called out. He and Brian swung their heads simultaneously toward my voice. “I hate to interrupt your discussion, but there is someone else you should meet.” Louis looked at Jackson then back to me. I couldn’t really help it – so far this had been a rather conservative performance. “Oh, that’s right. You’ve already met.” I said with undisguised mirth. “Take a good look. I think you’ll remember.”

Brian wisely moved out of the way. There was that moment when Louis allowed a smile to curl his lips, when Jackson’s mind flashed the alarm signal as it recalled the gunshots that fell this man who couldn’t be here now so strong and so… impossible. He muttered something – the word no, perhaps and then Louis vaulted lightly over the rail.

****

(Louis)

“Impossible.” I murmured, seizing him, grasping his thick arms and pulling him close, pulling him in for the kiss of the vampire, a thing he had seen in the movies, laughing it off. Why not?

“No. Such. Thing.” I said into his ear as he struggled against my grip, a fight he would not win, not this time. He tried to cry out, but his voice was faint, asthmatic. I pulled him closer and bared my fangs, showed him his doom; this was a recent thing for me, something Lestat had perfected centuries before I accepted it. There was that scar, thick and jagged, zip it apart, Louis, drink, drink, look at Brian, there beyond his shoulder, (ah, god, the blood, smell, smell the blood) watching me with focused avidity, and Lestat, my Lelio, easily playing a role to bring this one to me, the one that had hurt him so much more than he’d hurt me. Lestat, this scar is thick in my teeth and he is filled with the crimson blood I craved.

I pulled him close and opened my mouth wide, driving my fangs deep to hold him still and clamping to his throat. The artery in his neck burst like a ripe peach, rich nectar on my tongue. My fingers dug into his flesh, my tongue reached into the wound in his throat, widening it. I sucked hard, drawing a good quart from him with such force his veins collapsed and he groaned deeply. HIs large hands, once so powerful, scraped feebly at my back. Oh he was delicious and in his mind I found depravity, and death and back, far back, pain, pulled from him dreadfully. This was release; this was his death, red and pulsing on my tongue, bathing the deepest part of my wounds, blessed healing life.

In this ecstasy I opened my eyes and saw Brian, leaning forward, gasping like a fish out of water, his eyes locked with mine and I wanted to share it, wanted to give to him what I felt, my Brian who had given over to me and kept me sane. Had I killed him? Taken his sanity? Surely not, I had been so careful, so…oh, this mortal tasted so fucking good and he was so filled with it, this luscious blood. Weakened as he was, my peach, my ripened peach, he still bucked back reflexively, gross, stinking body fighting though his mind was no longer aware of what was happening. I did not draw out the past to him: it had broken him, but it had given him to me, thick, juicy man, oh _mon dieu_ , this is, this is, this is...the rest is swoon, it’s delirium, it’s blood, blood, blood, blood and Brian turned to the door, admitting another mortal, and he overpowered this person, incapacitated him. Brian moves faster, he's changed, he’s my creature. I've known it for a long while and Brian, he knew it too, l, no longer quite so fragile a mortal, not with that lovely twist of immortal blood zinging through him. Ilicked my lips and shuddered. 

Lestat knew, too, he saw it now before him and there is fascination and not a little anger in him , but he doesn't know the whole of it. There was wickedness in his eyes and as he lifted Brian's conquest from the floor he spoke, but I couldn't hear him properly with the roaring in my ears and then I knew little more, because I was filled, I was glutted, and the swoon took me over, the residual pain of my wounds dimmed and fled far away. The man was dead, I drank his death, strong enough to do so now, Lestat, I am strong, your, your, your blood. Teddy Jackson fell from my arms, his body an empty husk, his bones crushed and I staggered backward to the wall.

(Lestat)

There came a moment as I watched the kill where I realized I was fully overcome with the pleasure of it. My nostrils flared and my breath came rapid and eager as though it were my teeth that tore away flesh and called the blood home I was completely focused on the lurid details as I leapt down and circled them slowly. How I longed to touch Louis in that instant, to nestle in behind his ear and feel the movement of his jaw as he suckled. Jackson’s grotesque scar was somehow less fascinating now that Louis had ripped it out in one long strip. It hung down from the clavicle like the broken string of a marionette. No more dancing days for you, my puppet. Jackson’s eyes, grew wide as I walked alongside – he could no longer scream, but at first, as they say in these parts, Lordy Jesus did he scream. A short huff of laughter escaped me then, so soft that he may not have heard as I stared into his dying face.

The scent of his blood and the acrid stink of fear hung in the air as I moved to meet Louis’ eyes… but Louis was looking past me and ever so slowly I turned to see Brian. I was completely without surprise at the expression on his face: His mouth open and his eyes as wide as the dying man’s. They were filled with something from the opposite side of the spectrum. He was horrified and fascinated of course, but Louis knew… and Brian knew. They knew together in that shared look and as I watched them my usual sarcasm was replaced with a mixture of fascination and vindication for what I’d suspected was growing all along between them. As the blood filled Louis, as the bloodlust swept through Brian, they knew one another in the way Louis had so desperately yearned to experience with me, and for a second, I hated it.

There wasn’t time to think on it further. In my right ear there was the lavish, slick sound of the blood as Louis feasted, and in my left ear, yelling from beyond the warehouse door followed by more increasing demands, fists against metal to accompany the voice. Brian was opening the door without thought before I could warn against it . I did not move as I watched him leap to action; he grabbed the man by the arm and flung him into the room in a surprising show of strength. The intruder managed to get back on his feet and had a moment to interpret the scene before Brian rushed him once again. I could hear the strength of his heartbeat and the syncopated verse in his blood as it he ran interference...keep him back, he has a weapon …as I watched him throw the uninvited guest against the wall, then land several blows with his fists as he dodged the thug’s attempted retaliations. Oh how positively _splendid_ , I thought: A real-live action movie scene. I had never seen Brian in such a fury and looked back toward Louis to gauge his reaction, but his eyes were closed as nourishment flooded his veins. I turned back to the scene just in time to see Brian strike the side of the guy’s head and send him reeling with his eyes rolled back into his head. Not dead… yet.

Brian stood upright, panting lightly. He looked at me, then toward Louis, and back to me.

“Looks like it’s ‘Buy one get one free’ night, so far as things go.” I said. Then I really did give into a full gale of laughter as I walked over the fallen stranger to where Brian stood. A new scent, the scent of sweat and mortal rage, mortal hunger … an unnatural hunger rose on the air. I reached down and pulled the man to his feet. He was conscious but completely incapable of any further resistance. I held him against my side effortlessly as his head lolled back. Brian backed toward the door muttering something about Jackson and how he must have called the guy. Of course he had – he’d told him the general area, and to be on the lookout for a bronze Escalade. Had I parked outside on purpose with the hope of just such an occurrence? One never knows. 

My laughter evaporated as I faced our beloved companion and in its place came the magniloquent humor for which I am famous. “Don’t give into fear now, Brian. You brought down a victim,” I paused and shook my head with a soft hissing inhalation. I could not go on with what I wanted to say. He knew exactly what I was thinking as I held my eyes to him and swiftly drew the interloper’s body against my own. Deliberately I latched onto the throat and as I drank, Brian watched. I drew it all in, the entire scope of what had gone down tonight – Louis, Jackson, Brian… until my eyes closed in lustful, overloaded bliss and I no longer cared whether there was an audience, or a room, or ground beneath my feet; all was an ebb and flow of crimson sin and absolution. Far off it seemed, a door slammed too hard… the unmistakable thud of a body falling to the floor, and then a second as I released the man from my arms and Louis… behind me… against me, turning me into his arms.

“He’s not ready, not yet.” he crooned into my ear. “Soon perhaps, but not tonight.” We clung to one another in drunken, heated bliss. These words were not reassurance, but a perfectly awful affirmation and later, I might well demand further congress on the matter, but not just now. He lifted his gaze and called to Brian who took a step toward us, the blood lust chased back somewhat. I’d seen the look before though; he was operating on autopilot and the shock wouldn’t wear off until far later, despite the fact that he of all people knew us for what we were. Louis nodded toward the carnage. “Get their phones and lock up if you please. Lestat and I will deal with this tomorrow night.”

Brian nodded. “I’ll drive you home.” 

And he did. He drove us to our home in the Rue Royale.

 

TBC


	22. Knowing - Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resolution at long last and a farewell.

**LESTAT**

He was in my arms and I felt more gloriously drunk than at any time in my recent memory. As we stood in the doorway to the house, the replay of the night’s action caused me to stagger and Louis laughed softly against me, as drunk in his way as I was in mine. I leaned in closer and kissed him behind his ear. He smelled of mortal blood, inside and out and I found myself wanting to taste every inch of him.

“Wait.” He pushed against me and I leaned against the doorframe. He called to Brian gently, but our companion was already closing the door to his cottage - he was lost to any discussion tonight after all that had transpired. The look of regret in Louis’ eyes mixed with the bloodlust was nothing short of painful in its beauty. 

“He’ll be himself by tomorrow.”

“I’m not so sure,” Louis countered. 

Then I kissed him and any other comment he may have was suppressed by our shared desire. The kill tonight had been extraordinary: To watch him in such grisly, impassioned drinking produced an arousal and simultaneous satisfaction that no physical manifestation could hope to meet, and one that truly no mortal could ever understand. When he drank from the man, the dark perfume of his mortal blood had been an overwhelming intoxicant.

As Brian had driven us to the townhouse, we’d fallen into the swoon and lolled against one another with few words spoken other than the reiteration of how damn good it all had been. Now, as I claimed his mouth, he pressed me once again into the doorframe and I could feel within and between us that swirling, ineffable madness that was at once our true savage nature combined with our need and love for one another; there may be nothing on this earth to rival that combined force. My hands moved from his waist upward then became lost in his raven hair We crashed into the kitchen and Louis came against me full force, laying me back onto the always pristine countertop. He pulled my shirt away easily, shredding the thin, costly material to sight the mark where he wanted to plant his teeth. I clutched at his hair as I felt the burn on the flesh above my rib cage; the pain was exquisite. His tongue probed the wound and the image of Saint Sebastian came to me, unbidden. I would have gladly perished twice were this implement of my death. Little bites he gave me, moving downward and I tried in vain to find a good hold on the granite beneath my hands. It was futile, and when he put his teeth strategically on the bulge in my trousers, I nearly fell onto the floor. I backpedaled comically and he came upward, pausing only for a moment to look at me: He was barely biting his bottom lip as he grinned. Ah, now look at you that grin said. Yes, look at me, I echoed with my eyes. He took my chin in one hand, turned my head slightly and though I braced for him to claim my neck, instead, he nudged beneath my ear.

“Let’s get out of these clothes, what do you say?” He stepped back and the total expression he wore was worth trying to paint in words - he was overcome. I saw mischief, delight, lust, love… there was no explaining a love that deep, and still some moving, mysterious emotion played behind his startling eyes. It was a _knowing_ \- a knowing of the night and the events that had taken place, of his nature as I might have wished to see it so long ago, a knowing of me. There was no guard or guile in his countenance: He was his own, but he was all mine. 

“I have a suggestion after our strenuous evening, _mon amour_.” I pulled at the collar of his shirt and as I opened it, the heady scent of Jackson’s blood filled my senses. “Wouldn’t a hot shower feel marvelous?” 

He wound a finger in one of my curls. “I hadn’t thought of it, but now that you mention it, yes, it would.”

I looked at my ruined shirt on the kitchen floor and bent to pick it up. “Oh but now you have me at an advantage, darling.” I teased as I backed him toward the stairs. I inched him up the steps, loving the gleam in his eyes. He removed his shirt midway between the fourth and fifth step and tossed it at me. When he turned belly-down and made to get to the top ahead of me, I was prepared. I grabbed him around the waist and pinned him to the thick carpet runner. I tried to pull his jeans off, but they were the pair that looked to be painted onto his body. How could he wear such entrancingly tight pants? I could have ripped them off I suppose, but instead, I nipped his ass right through the fabric as I held him. 

“You don’t think I’m going to make it that easy for you, do you?” he said over his shoulder. 

In response, I inched up to his lower back and traced my lips upward. I was no longer holding him - he was a willing captive beneath me as I rolled one nipple in my fingers and kissed him behind his ear. “What I think is … I want to see you… wet and needful, _cher_ Louis.”

For that, I got exactly what I wanted: A shudder and a sigh. 

I let him go and he stood up, turned toward me and extended his hand gracefully. There again was the knowing look in his eyes. _Toi malin comme un renard, que sais-tu exactement? Que vois-tu?_ Curiosity mixed eagerly with growing desire to further intoxicate me and I gave him a slow smile – I have ways of making you talk, I thought.  


Into the bathroom then and he stripped the pants off in one easy motion as the soft amber light played entrancingly along his long, lean legs. Downstairs, our shoes had been the first thing to go I realized and for some reason, it struck me funny. Mortal trappings were commonplace and we could look oh so fashionable – but we couldn’t wait to be natural against one another. I reached behind me and turned on the shower. As I did, he loosened and pushed down my jeans. When I felt the water grow hot, I turned back toward him. How many times had we made use of the counters in this bathroom? I pictured the last time, Louis seated just there to the left of the sink, his legs up over my shoulders as I knelt and brought him to pleasure. There was the time we’d started on the countertop, myself in a similar position until I’d lost my grip on the towel ring and proceeded to crash down rather painfully onto the porcelain tile floor after knocking my head on the commode. When we’d finally gone downstairs, Brian had just looked at us and shook his head with a rueful smile. It was just one of the many nights we’d shared and characteristically, I wanted more - whether the future held humorous bathroom interludes, spectacular arguments, or everything in between.

“Lestat,” Spoken softly as a benediction, his accent caressing my name as only he could pronounce it for there is no one else who bears the love for me that he does. 

I kissed him roughly, forbidding any other words before taking his lips more gently and finally, breaking away to look into his eyes. I could so easily fall under the spell of them, and before I got lost in contemplation, I bent my mouth to the base of his throat and traced my teeth along his collarbone. I could still taste of his victim’s blood mingled with the wild, fearful odor of the sweat that precedes death - that is when the person in question realizes their life is about to be extracted by the teeth of a character from their nightmares. The water carried these scents and flavors downward as I followed with my nose, lips and teeth grazing his skin. His hands rested on my shoulders and in my hair as I sank to my knees. I knew he’d have his eyes closed, but I knew he would envision the wet curls pressed against my face, the slow slide of my lips against his taut belly and how he sighed when I kissed the roughly healed scars upon his flesh. The raised, jagged line at his hip where the worst shot had been. So much blood… Then inward, up again to the one on his belly… the scars remind us... What if I had lost him? Immortal we are, but there is always that unknown alchemy. What if some great force was in play all along while we foolishly believed in living forever? What if the ancient spirit had a threshold or some sort of kill switch? Don’t leave me, Louis I need you… How often must he have felt this way about me and played the same words within his mind? 

From him, I heard my name again, faint and nearly drowned out by the fall of water. The invitation of his hips as they arched forward returned my focus. This was no time for such grave thinking, and I followed the enticement to take him in my mouth. A strained moan accompanied the clutch of his hand in my hair as I began to work him slowly. In our time of reunion there had been serious bouts of kissing, deliberate, torturous bouts of frottage, but there had not been this degree of intimacy. This was the first time in four years I’d tasted him in such a way, and had I not been so focused on giving him pleasure, my own ecstasy may have caused me to back up and babble about how long it had been or the last time in terms of where or when, but no, words were not going to happen now. All there was now was the length of him sliding marvelously into my mouth, mingled with the hot water. I skillfully worked my hand beneath, separating and invading gently, pressing one then two fingers there.

Minutes before, he had envisioned me upon him and now it was my turn; I closed my eyes when he gasped. In the darkness behind my eyes I saw him against the marble, his head back, his mouth open… the water trickling over his cheekbones, sluicing downward into the wiry black hairs that tickled my nose, ah yes my Louis…. yes… I brought my hand downward from where it had been pressed against his belly and with it, held him firmly at the base. Ah, but how did he like it? I smiled secretly as I came up once more, lifted my mouth away and worked my thumb where it had been. He responded by clutching my shoulders, hunched over just slightly toward me. Once more I lowered my mouth and in time to the rhythm I was creating, he moved his hips and growled a low, sweet torrent of French pleas and obscenities. Yes, Louis…. You’ve waited and wanted… let it go, fill me with the taste of you. I wanted nothing more. 

He gathered a thick knot of my hair and the pain only spurred my efforts. In, out, up, down… my fingers, my mouth, in and upon him until I felt the slightest hitch of his hips. He was ready and I knew him well enough to ease my mouth ever so slightly, to pull back just enough to make him pursue; to seek and use my mouth as he needed to take him over the edge. He drew in a sharp breath and followed, blindly needing the release I so wanted to give. As I backed against the warm marble, he set the tempo - too late to hold back, too long in getting to this point together, all he wanted now… all we wanted… I refrained from all but one thing and that was letting him find the moment. When he reached it, the sound that accompanied the climax was guttural, almost wounded, and I felt a thatch of my hair come loose as he filled my mouth. Nothing, no momentary pain could have interfered with the bliss I felt as he let go and fed me that which had too long been withheld. He pulled me closer, reflexively, holding my head as he spilled the delicacy upon my tongue. I savored it and milked him for more which he delivered with a groan. Slowly, I pulled my fingers from him and with a pleasured sigh he leaned against the wall with his head hung down toward mine.

“Un...believable,” he said in broken syllables. “You…”

“Mmm. Amazing…” I said with a deliberate smile as I looked up at him. I leaned forward and with one arm, he pulled me up against him. We stood beneath the cooling water, locked in a long, slow kiss. He tasted himself in my mouth and for the thousandth time, I was turned on by that very act. In physical terms, my own arousal was surprisingly undemanding and for that I was glad. It was far more mentally arousing that he had completely given himself over to me without any hesitation. As he held me against him I knew that while we were far from fully repaired, everything was precisely as it _should_ be in this time and space. It was surreal and overwhelming as it slowly circled in my mind.  


“Lestat,” He brought me out of my thoughts as he held my face with one hand. “Come on, let’s dry off and take ourselves to bed.”

I said nothing. I couldn’t. I was close to tears for what had moved through me just then coupled with what I’d felt earlier when kissing the scars. When we’d been on the stairs before and I saw that look in his eyes, that mysterious knowing - that’s what it had been and through the fading swoon, it drew me in; I was home, within him and with him. There was so much I wanted to say to him, but the sweetest knowledge was that it no longer needed to be said. The summit of understanding had once again been reached. 

We stepped out of the shower and he shut off the water. I shook off my sweet melancholy and with it my hair as I pulled a heavy towel from the warming rack and wrapped it around him, enclosing myself as well. I brought it up around his back and over his shoulders so that we were momentarily hidden from the rest of the world.

“I love you.” I mouthed against his cheek. I thought to myself that there was never a truth so profoundly simple.

“I love you more, beautiful,” he countered as I began to dry off the dark length of his hair. 

We were rather happily waterlogged and spent - it had been an extraordinary night. As we climbed in and lay curved against one another, I presumed our silence was not only due to individual tiredness, but as we were both contemplating our union as a circuitous if not inevitable journey in this life. He was nestled behind me and just as I thought he’d fallen asleep, he tenderly stroked my face and brushed away a still-damp and errant tendril.

“It is always such a long and perilous road back to one another, isn’t it my love?”

I smiled in the dark. “That it is,” I agreed. “But love wins out.” I brought his hand into my own and curled it against my chest. There was no need for further words, for those he’d just chosen contained the truth of his heart. An immortal’s path was never easy, and the turbulence we’d known together and apart was well known. What mattered was that we knew even in the storms that the road always led home to where the shelter of one another’s arms awaited. For now, forever, that was more than enough.

**~~~~~**

**BRIAN**

“Thanks for the use of the Gulfstream.” I said. I’d just come back out after overseeing how Murphy’s crate was secured. He wasn’t pleased about being in it at all, but at least he’d have the run of the cabin once we were in the air. Lestat waved the remark away even as I stepped closer to him. “If you need anything taken care of, just call Perry. She has your schedule of appointments and will be overseeing the everyday things that I usually see to. The cats, the gardener, Louis’s fish.”

I glanced at Louis standing just behind Lestat to the left. His hair was a dark banner in the stiff wind blowing across the tarmac. It was strange to think I wasn’t going to see him tomorrow night, that I wasn’t going to wake up in New Orleans. It didn’t seem real to me. I looked at Lestat again, and took another step closer. “I love you, too, you know,” I said, taking his face in my two hands and pressing a firm kiss to his mouth. If he was startled, he made no show of it, returning the kiss and holding me in a brief but strong embrace. His spoken answer was formal, “Thank you,” but his eyes were kind and concerned and that meant much more to me than anything he could have said. His extraordinary eyes held mine for a moment “I’ll give you some privacy, hmm? I’ll wait for you in the car, Louis.” He turned and walked back toward the hangar.

I was under control, but hardly emotionless. Louis had come back to Maison Chênes a few nights ago and that was when I’d allowed myself to weep, a release from a combination of the welter of emotions I’d felt at the warehouse and afterward, as well as grief in knowing I was leaving. Crying was most definitely not my default but the exhaustion it brought on after three-quarters of an hour or so helped calm me. I think Louis absorbed that initial outpouring with some pain of his own, but his mind touch was calm and reassuring with no hint of agitation. That in itself helped me gain back control and to tell the truth, I was a little ashamed of myself. In spite of how this must sound it wasn’t any sort of bid to stay: they needed to finish working things out and so did I. They could do what they had to with me here or not, but I needed some perspective, and if that hurt, what of it? There were other things to consider beyond my own feelings; the state of my body, for one thing. It was clear that there had been changes, in me and the events at the warehouse told me I was close to a tipping point. I wasn’t teetering on the edge just yet, but it was touch and go. I’d stepped back, but how much had that had been because of what Lestat had said to me? What would have happened if he’d said nothing? I pushed it all away---I had time ahead of me to think it through.

Louis kept it simple, pulling me in for a strong, loving embrace accompanied by a warm, lingering kiss. Along with both came the touch of his mind and in that touch I was comforted. Words are usually enough, but I needed to feel this. He stepped back after several minutes.

“You’re keeping something from me, Brian,” he said with a puzzled little smile.

“I am, yeah.” I reached and caressed his jaw briefly. He is such a fine man, I thought, he’s beautiful and strong and sometimes he’s scary as fuck, though I’ve never been afraid of him. I knew I was doing the right thing because there was contentment in him that I had not seen in quite a while. “You’ll know about it sooner or later.”

He nodded and gave me a little half-smile. “You will have a care for yourself. Should you need me for any reason, promise me you will call…one way or the other.”

I smiled, then. “Promise. I don’t think I’ll be running into any trouble where I’m going.”

“I suppose not. It needn’t be trouble, Brian.”

I knew what he meant…we’d talked about it at length. “I know.”

“Very well. You should board: your pilot looks harried. Farewell, my Brian; I look forward to seeing you when you are ready to return.”

He’d laid that ball neatly in my court and though he said nothing further aloud, I felt the gentle touch of his mind as I climbed the little stairway up to the plane and ducked inside. One of the three-man crew sealed the door and asked me to please take a seat and fasten my belt. I looked out the window to see Louis still standing on the tarmac with the wind tugging at his hair. No wave or gesture while the plane taxied slowly out to the main runway, just the familiar sight of him with his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes held mine for a few moments more and the warm touch of his mind to mine felt reassuring enough to carry me through however long I was to be apart from him.

**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This tale ends here, but it's not the end of the story by any means. We thank you for reading and for the comments and encouragement - you have no idea how much it means.


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